BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


/ 


STORIES 


OF    THE 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL, 


By  eOL  HENRY  fflMAN, 


OP  KANSAS. 


KANSAS    CITY,    MO.  : 

BOOK  PUBLISHING  HOUSE  OF  RAMSEY,  MILLETT  &  HUDSON. 
1881. 


m/f 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congresi,  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  eighty-one, 

BY  RAMSEY,  MILLETT  &  HUDSON, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


TO    CAPTAIN    HENRY  KING,   OF    TOPEKA,  WHOSE  PEN  FIRST 
ELEVATED    THE    LITERATURE    OF    KANSAS   TO   THE   DIGNITY    OF 

THE   "ATLANTIC"  AND  "  SCRIBNER,"  AND   TO    HON.   c.   c. 

SPRIGG,  OF  ELLSWORTH,  AND  CAPTAIN  HENRY  BOOTH,  OF 
LARNED,  WHOSE  FRIENDSHIP  HAS  BEEN  OF  THE  NOBLEST  AND 
MOST  EXALTED  CHARACTER,  THESE  SKETCHES  ARE  INSCRIBED. 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE. 

The  reader  is  reminded  that  the  Atchison,  Topeka  6°  Santa 
Fe  Railroad  practically  follows  the  old  Santa  Fe  Trail,  or  wagon 
road,  across  the  Plains,  through  Kansas  and  New  Mexico.  No 
other  scope  of  country  on  the  continent,  perhaps,  is  so  rich  in  his- 
tory and  tradition.  The  advent  of  the  railroad,  with  its  disturb- 
ing and  disclosing  influences,  has  made  this  land  a  new  one  to 
every  day  eyes  ;  but,  in  fact,  it  was  already  old  when  the  Pilgrims 
landed  at  Plymouth  Rock.  It  is  not  possible,  of  course,  in  the 
brief  space  of  such  a  book  as  this,  to  give  a  symmetrical  or  con- 
nected account  of  the  many  strange,  stirring  and  important  scenes 
enacted  here  in  such  a  prolonged  and  confused  period  of  time. 
The  author  has  contested  himself,  therefore,  with  merely  gather- 
ing up  a  few  separate  and  characteristic  fragments  of  its  won- 
derful story,. .which  it  is  hoped  will  interest  the  general  reader,  and 
stimulate  further  research  in  this  vast  field  of  shadow  and  mys- 
tery. 


CONTENTS. 


How  PAWNEE  ROCK  WAS  NAMED.    (Illustrated.)  ....      i 

THE  MARCH  OF  FRANCISCO  VASQUEZ  DE  CORONADO  ...     1  1 
THE  LEGEND  OF  TEPEYACAC  .............    60 

THE  FIGHT  ON  LOWREY'S  ISLAND  TWENTY  YEARS  AGO  .    74 
A  LEGEND  OF  PAWNEE  ROCK  ............    83 

ANOTHER  LEGEND  OF  PAWNEE  ROCK  .........    94 

A  TERRIBLE  TEN  MILES  RIDE.     (Illustrated.)  .....  no 

THE  MASSACRE  AT  BABE'S  RANCH  ..........  150 

THE  SCOUTS'  LAST  RIDE  ..............  164 

WAL  HENDERSON  .................  194 

CANNADY'S  RANCH  .................  312 

GEN'L  FORSYTH'S  FIGHT  ON  THE  ARRICKAREE  FORK.   (Il- 
lustrated.) ..................  251 

A  LIVELY  RACE  WITH  THE  KIOWAS  ...........  269 

SE-QUO-YAH  ...................  274 

WILL  THE  BUFFALO  BECOME  EXTINCT?  .  .286 


PAWNEE    ROCK. 


STORIES  I  OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL 


HOW  "PAWNEE  ROCK"  WAS  NAMED. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  many  of  my  readers  have  heard  of 
"Kit  Carson,"  the  famous  scout,  Indian  fighter  and  brave 
"frontiersman  ;  "  and  also,  that  they  have  heard  of  "  Pawnee 
Rock  "  in  the  now  great  State  of  Kansas — perhaps  some  of 
them  have  ridden  by  this  once  celebrated  battle-ground  of 
the  "  Pawnees,"  on  their  way  to  the  mountains  over  the  Atch- 
ison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  Railroad.  If  they  have,  this  story 
of  how  it  got  its  name  will  be  doubly  interesting. 

"Pawnee  Rock"  is  located  only  a  few  miles  from  the 
thriving  little  town  of  Lamed,  and  is  a  classic  spot  in  the 
Indian  history  of  the  "Great  Plains."  Its  rugged  mass  of 
brown  sandstone  throws  a  deep  shadow  almost  immediately 
over  the  broad  trail  that  for  hundreds  of  years  was  the  high- 
way of  all  the  "  Prairie  Tribes  "  on  their  periodical  hunts  to 
the  feeding  grounds  of  the  buffalo — southward,  across  the 
Canadian,  and  to  the  north,  far  beyond  the  Platte.  Under  the 
gloom,  too,  of  its  craggy  and  rough-hewn  face — not  a  hun- 
dred yards  away — that  great  international  roadway,  n<3w  a 
mere  memory,  the  "Santa  Fe  Trail"  passed. 


2  STORIES  OF  THE 

In  early  Fall,  when  the  "  Rock  "^  is  wrapped  in  the  soft 
amber  haze — a  distinguishing  characteristic  of  the  delightful 
"  Indian  Summer"  on  the  "  Central  Plains;"  or  in  the  nas- 
cent Spring,  when  the  mirage  weaves  its  mysterious  and 
weird-like  shape,  it  looms  up  in  the  landscape  like  a  huge 
mountain,  and  to  the  inexperienced  eye  on  the  prairie,  it 
appears  as  if  it  were  the  continuation  of  a  well-defined  range. 
But  when  the  frost  comes,  and  the  mist  is  dispelled,  and  when 
the  thin  fringe  of  timber  on  the  Walnut — a  few  miles  away — 
has  doffed  its  emerald  mantle,  and  the  grass  has  grown  yellow 
and  rusty,  then  in  the  golden  sunlight  of  Winter  the  "Rock" 
sinks  down  to  its  natural  proportions,  and  cuts  the  clear  blue 
of  the  skies  with  sharply-marked  lines. 

If  this  giant  sentinel  of  the  "  Plains"  might  speak,  what 
a  story  it  could  tell  of  the  events  that  have  happened  on  the 
beautiful  prairie  stretching  out  for  miles  at  its  feet !  All  over 
its  scarred  and  weather-beaten  front,  carved  in  quaint  and 
rude  letters,  are  the  names  of  hundreds  who  in  early  days 
made  the  dangerous  and  exciting  passage  of  the  Santa  Fe 
Trail.  Some  names  are  roughly  chiseled  there,  too,  who 
were  not  ambitious  at  the  time  of  a  more  enduring  fame,  and 
gave  no  further  thought  to  their  effort  than  was  concentrated 
in  the  bare  idea  of  relief  from  the  ennui  of  the  moment, 
while  their  horses  and  mules  were  resting,  but  who  will  go 
down  to  history  cursed  or  praised — as  viewed  from  varying 
aspects — long  after  the  storm  of  centuries  shall  have  obliter- 
ated every  mark  on  this  isolated  mass  of  sandstone.  Con- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  3 

spicuous  among  these  is  that  of  Robert  E.  Lee,  the  famous 
leader  of  the  Confederate  armies,  who,  in  1843,  crossed  into 
the  borders  of  Mexico  as  an  officer  of  the  "Mounted  Rifles.  " 
Under  the  shadow  of  "Pawnee  Rock,"  perhaps  Coronado, 
the  celebrated  Spanish  explorer,  and  his  little  band  of  faith- 
ful followers  rested  on  their  lonely  march  in  search  of  the 
mythical  Quivira.  The  "Rock"  alone  is  all  that  remains, 
in  all  probability,  upon  which  the  Spaniards  looked,  for  the 
mighty  interval  of  nearly  four  hundred  years,  must  have  rele- 
gated all  else — trees,  water  courses  and  the  entire  landscape, 
that  the  hardy  adventurers  looked  upon,  to  the  domain  of 
vast  modification — and  this  iron-bound  hill — whose  unsus- 
ceptiftility  to  change  is  almost  as  the  earth  itself — the  only 
witness  of  their  famous  march. 

During  the  half  century  included  between  the  years 
1823-73 — which  latter  date  marked  the  advent  of  the  railroad 
in  this  portion  of  Kansas — "  Pawnee  Rock"  was  considered 
the  most  dangerous  place  on  all  the  "Central  Plains"  for 
encounters  with  the  Indians,  as  at  this  particular  point  on 
the  "Trail"  the  Pawnees,  Kiowas,  Comanches,  Arrapahoes 
and  Cheyennes  made  their  not  infrequent  successful  raids 
upon  the  pack  and  wagon  trains  of  the  freighters  across  the 
continent.  I  well  remember,  in  the  earlier  geographies,  that 
most  exciting  and  sensational  of  all  the  illustrations— to  my 
boyish  mind  at  least— which  depicted  the  "  Santa  Fe  traders 
attacked  by  Indians ;  "  but  that  was  long  ago,  and  such  scenes 
have  passed  away  forever. 


4  STORIES  OF  THE 

In  those  primitive  days  of  the  ''Border,"  "  Kit  Carson," 
"LucienB.  Maxwell,"  "Old  John  Smith,"  the  Bents  and 
the  Boones,  with  other  famous  frontiersmen,  commenced 
their  eventful  lives  in  the  "Far  West" — mere  boys  then — 
but  whose  exploits  have  since  made  for  them  a  world-wide 
reputation.  "Kit  Carson,"  "Maxwell,"  "Smith"  and  the 
Bents  are  dead — died  with  harness  on,  and  on  the  confines  of 
that  civilization  which  is  rapidly  closing  up  the  gap  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountains,  amidst  which  there  would  soon  have  been 
nothing  congenial — so  they  passed  away  while  there  still 
remained  fresh  prairies  and  quiet  streams. 

"  Kit,"  one  of  the  most  noble  men  it  has  been  my  for- 
tune to  know,  is  sleeping  peacefully  under  the  gnarled  old 
Cottonwoods  at  Fort  Lyon,  on  the  Arkansas — that  river  he 
loved  so  well — every  foot  of  whose  silent  margin  could  tell  a 
story  of  his  daring.  It  was  at  "  Pawnee  Rock,"  many,  many 
years  ago,  that  "  Kit,"  then  a  mere  boy,  had  his  first  experi- 
ence with  the  Indians,  and  it  was  because  of  this  fight  the 
"  Rock"  received  its  name. 

In  those  days  the  "  Pawnees"  were  the  most  formidable 
tribe  on  the  "Eastern  Plains,"  and  the  freighters  and  trap- 
pers rarely  escaped  a  skirmish  with  them  either  at  the  cross- 
ing of  the  "Walnut,"  "Pawnee  Fork,"  or  at  "Little"  or 
"Big"  Coon  creeks.  To-day  the  historic  hill  looks  down 
only  upon  peaceful  homes  and  fruitful  fields — where  for  hun- 
dreds of  years  it  could  tell  of  nothing  but  battle  and  death ; 
where  almost  every  yard  of  the  brown  sod  at  its  base  covered 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  5 

a  grave ;  where  there  was  nothing  but  shadow,  now  all  is 
sunlight.  In  place  of  the  horrid  yell  of  the  savage,  as  he 
wrenched  the  reeking  scalp  from  his  vanquished  victim,  the 
whistle  of  the  locomotive  and  the  pleasing  whirr  of  the  reap- 
ing machine  is  heard ;  where  the  death-cry  of  the  painted 
warrior  rang  mournfully  over  the  silent  prairie,  the  waving 
grain  is  singing  in  beautiful  rhythm  as  it  bows  to  the  summer 
breeze.  Almost  every  day  in  the  opening  Spring,  or  before 
the  grain-planting  in  the  early  fall,  for  several  years  during 
the  first  settlement  of  the  country,  in  the  vicinity  of  "  Pawnee 
Rock,"  the  skeletons  of  those  killed  there  in  the  long  years 
gone  by — sometimes  the  bones  of  the  white  man,  sometimes 
the  bones  of  the  red  man— were  plowed  up ;  and  even  now, 
where  new  fields  are  opened,  the  "Rock"  thus  gradually 
unfolds  the  sphinx-like  secrets  of  its  dead.  But  of  the  fight 
from  which  "Pawnee  Rock"  took  its  name,  and  Carson's 
part  in  it : 

It  was  late  in  the  spring  of  1833 — ''Kit"  was  then  a 
mere  boy,  only  seventeen  years  old,  and  as  green  as  any  boy 
of  his  age  who  has  never  been  forty  miles  away  from  the 
place  where  he  was  born.  Colonel  Saint  Vrain,  a  prominent 
agent  of  one  of  the  great  fur  companies  of  that  period,  was 
fitting  out  an  expedition  at  Ft.  Osage,  destined  for  the  far 
off  Rocky  Mountains  after  the  skins  of  the  buffalo,  beaver, 
otter,  mink  and  other  valuable  fur-bearing  animals  that  then 
roamed  in  immense  numbers  on  the  plains,  or  inhabited  the 


6  STORIES  OF  THE 

hills  at  their  western  terminus,  and  to  trade  with  the  various 
tribes  of  Indians  on  the  borders  of  Mexico. 

This  expedition  young  "Kit"  joined,  which  was  com- 
posed of  twenty-six  mule  wagons,   some   loose   stock   and 
forty -two  men.      "Kit  "was  hired   to  help  drive  the  extra 
animals,  stand  guard  and  make  himself  generally  useful,  which 
of  course  included  fighting  the  Indians  if  any  were  met  with 
on  the  route.     The  party  left  the  fort  one  bright  morning  in 
May  in  excellent  spirits,  and  in  a  few  hours  turned  abruptly  to 
the  west  on  the  broad  trail  to  the  mountains.     The  "  Great 
Plains  "  in  those  years  were  solitary  and  desolate  beyond  the 
power  of  description ;  the    Arkansas   obeyed    the   tortuous 
windings  of  its  treeless  banks    with   a  placidness  that  was 
awful  in  its  very  silence,  and  who  followed  the  wanderings  of 
that  stream  with  no  companion  but  his  own  thoughts  realized 
in  all  its  intensity  the  depth  of  that  solitude  which  Crusoe 
suffered  on  his  lonely  island.     Illimitable  as  the  ocean,  the 
weary  waste  stretched  away  until  lost  in  the  purple  of  the 
horizon,  and  the  mirage  created  weird  landcapes,  and  pictur- 
ed distances   that  continually  deceived   and   annoyed;  but 
despite  its  loneliness,  there  was  then,  and  ever  has  been,  for 
most  men,  an  infatuation  and  love   for  those  majestic  and 
inter-continental  prairies  that  once  experienced  is  never  lost — 
and  thus  it  came  to  the  boyish  heart  of  "Kit,"  so  he  never 
left  them  but  with  his  life,  and  full  of  years. 

There  was  not  much  change  then,  to  the  eternal  same- 
ness of  things  during  the  first  two  weeks,  as  the  little  expedi- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  7 

tion  moved  day  after  day  through  the  wilderness  of  grass — 
its  ever  rattling  wheels  only  intensifying  the  world  of  monot- 
ony surrounding.  Occasionally,  however,  a  herd  of  buffaloes 
were  discovered  in  the  dim  distance,  their  brown  shaggy  sides 
contrasting  strangly  with  the  never  ending  sea  of  verdure 
around  them;  then  "Kit"  and  two  or  three  others  of  the 
party  who  were  detailed  to  supply  the  teamsters  and  packers 
with  fresh  meat,  would  ride  out  after  them  on  the  best  of  the 
extra  horses,  which  were  always  kept  saddled  and  tied  together 
behind  the  last  wagon  for  services  of  this  character.  The 
buffalo  quietly  watched  their  coming  until  they  were  within  a 
few  hundred  yards,  and  then  giving  three  or  four  sniffs,  with 
head  raised,  commenced  their  short,  quick  lope  toward  the 
bluffs;  but  "Kit"  who  was  already  an  excellent  horseman 
and  a  splendid  shot  with  the  rifle  would  soon  overtake  them, 
and  topple  one  after  another  of  their  huge  carcasses  over  on 
the  prairie  until  a  dozen  or  more  were  lying  dead.  The  juicy 
humps,  tongues  and  other  choice  portions  were  then  cut  off, 
put  in  a  wagon  which  had  by  that  time  reached  them  from  the 
train,  and  the  expedition  moved  on. 

So  they  marched  on  day  after  day  for  about  three  weeks 
when  they  arrived  at  the  crossing  of  Walnut  creek,  where 
they  saw  the  first  sign  of  the  Indian.  They  had  halted  for 
the  day,  the  mules  were  unharnessed,  the  camp-fires  lighted 
and  the  men  about  to  indulge  in  their  ever  refreshing  coffee, 
when  suddenly  half  a  dozen  Pawnees,  mounted  on  their 
ponies,  hideously  painted  and  uttering  the  most  demoniacal 


8  STORIES  OF  THE 

yells  rushed  out  of  the  tall  grass  on  the  river  bottom — where 
they  had  been  hiding — and  swinging  their  blankets  and  robes 
attempted  to  stampede  the  herd,  but  the  whole  party  were  on 
their  feet  in  a  moment  with  rifle  in  hand ;  so  all  the  Indians 
got  for  their  pains  were  a  few  well  deserved  shots  as  they 
scampered  back  to  the  river  and  over  into  the  sand-hills,  and 
were  soon  out  of  sight. 

The  next  night  they  camped  at  "  Pawnee  Rock,"  and  of 
course  after  the  experience  of  the  evening  before,  every  pre- 
caution was  employed  to  prevent  a  surprise;  the  wagons 
were  formed  into  a  corral,  so  that  the  animals  might  be 
secured  in  the  event  of  a  prolonged  fight;  the  guards  were 
drilled,  and  every  man  slept  with  his  rifle  for  a  bed-fellow, 
for  it  was  well  known  that  the  Indians  would  never  rest  satis- 
fied with  their  defeat  on  the  Walnut,  but  true  to  their 
thieving  propensities  and  love  of  revenge  would  seize  the  first 
favorable  opportunity  to  renew  the  attack. 

"Kit"  was  posted  immediately  in  front  of  the  south 
face  of  the  "Rock,"  nearly  two  hundred  yards  from  the  cor- 
ral>  -and  the  others,  who  were  on  duty,  at  prominent  points 
on  top,  and  on  the  open  prairie  either  side.  About  half  past 
ii  o'clock  some  of  the  guard  gave  the  alarm,  "Indians!" 
and  ran  the  mules  into  the  corral,  while  the  whole  company 
turned  at  the  report  of  a  rifle  on  the  midnight  air,  coming 
from  the  direction  of  the  "Rock."  In  a  few  moments 
"Kit"  came  runing  in  to  where  the  men  had  gathered  and 
the  colonel  asked  him  if  he  had  seen  any  Indians.  "  Yes," 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  9 

he  replied,  "I  killed  one  of  the  red  devils — I  saw  him  fall." 
There  was  no  further  disturbance,  it  proved  to  be  a  false 
alarm;  so  the  men  were  soon  quietly  sleeping,  and  "Kit" 
returned  to  his  post.  The  next  morning  of  course  all  were 
anxious  to  see  "Kit's"  dead  Indian,  and  went  out  en  masse 
to  the  "  Rock,"  where,  instead  of  finding  a  painted  "Paw- 
nee," they  found  "Kit's"  mule — dead,  shot  through  the 
head.  * 

"Kit"  felt  terribly  mortified  over  his  ridiculous  blunder, 
and  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  heard  the  last  of  his  night 
raid  on  the  mule;  but  he  always  liked  to  tell  "  the  balance  of 
the  story,"  as  he  termed  it,  himself,  and  here  is  his  version : 
"  I  did  not  sleep  any  the  night  before — I  watched  all  the  time 
to  get  a  shot  at  the  Pawnees  that  had  tried  to  stampede  our 
animals,  and  I  suppose  I  felt  a  little  sleepy  leaning  against 
those  rocks — at  any  rate  I  was  wide  awake  enough  to  hear 
the  cry  of  '  Indian.'  I  had  picketed  my  mule  about  twenty 
steps  from  where  I  stood,  and  I  presume  he  had  been  lying 
down;  all  I  know  is  that  the  first  thing  I  saw  after  the 
alarm,  was  something  rising  up  out  of  the  grass,  which  I 
thought  was  an  Indian — it  was  a  center  shot,  I  don't  believe 
the  mule  ever  kicked  after  he  was  hit." 

The  next  morning  the  Pawnees  attacked  them  in  earnest, 
and  kept  the  little, command  busy  all  that  day,  the  next  night, 
and  until  the  midnight  following — nearly  three  whole  days — 
the  mules  all  the  time  shut  up  in  the  corral  without  food  or 
water.  At  midnight  they  hitched  up  and  attempted  to  drive 


10  STORIES  OF  THE 

over  the  crossing  of  ' '  Pawnee  Fork  "  (where  Lamed  is  now 
situated).  The  trail  at  that  point  crossed  the  creek  in  the 
shape  of  a  horse  shoe — or,  rather,  in  consequence  of  the 
double  bend  of  the  stream  as  it  empties  into  the  Arkansas,, 
the  road  crossed  it  twice;  in  making  this  crooked  passage 
many  of  the  wagons  were  badly  mashed  up  in  the  creek  be- 
cause the  mules  were  thirsty  and  their  drivers  could  not  control 
them.  The  train  wras  hardly  strung  out  on  the  opposite  bank 
when  the  Indians  poured  in  a  volley  from  both  sides  of  the 
trail,  but  before  they  could  reload  and  fire  again,  a  charge 
was  made  among  them  headed  by  the  Old  Colonel,  and  it 
took  only  a  few  moments  to  "clean  the  Indians  out"  and  the 
train  moved  on. 

During  the  whole  fight  the  little  party  lost  four  men  killed, 
seven  wounded,  and  eleven  mules  killed — not  counting 
"  Kit's  " — and  twenty  wounded. 

From  this  fight  Pawnee  Rock  took  its  name,  and  it  was 
there  that  "Kit  Carson"  had  his  first  encounter  with  the 
Indians. 


OLD' SANTA  FE  TRAIL. 


THE  MARCH  OF  FRANCISCO  VASQUEZ  DE  CORO- 

NADO, 

IN  SEARCH  OF  THE  SEVEN  CITIES  OF  CIBOLA  AND  THE  KINGDOM 
OF  QUIVIRA. 

"In  the  half  forgotten  era, 
With  the  avarice  of  old, 
Seeking  cities  that  were  told 
To  be  paved  with  solid  gold, 
In  the  kingdom  of  Quivira — 

"  Came  the  restless  Coronado 

To  the  open  Kansas  plain ; 

With  his  knights  from  sunny  Spain, 

In  an  effort  that,  though  vain, 

Thrilled  with  boldness  and  bravado." 

******        EUGENE  WARE. 

Many  of  our  people  are  not  aware,  perhaps,  that  nearly 
three  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  or  only  forty-eight  years 
after  the  discovery  of  America  by  Columbus,  a  large  portion 
of  Kansas  was  explored  by  the  Spaniards.  When  we  take 
into  consideration  the  condition  of  the  world  at  that  period, 
and  all  the  circumstances  that  surrounded  the  search  of 
Coronado — which  is  the  subject  of  this  sketch — his  journey 
into  the  then  terra  incognita  of  the  central  plains,  stands  as 
one  of  the  grandest  exploits  recorded  on  the  pages  of  history. 

It  appears  that  in  the  year  1530,  during  the  time  that 


12  STORIES  OF  THE 

Nuno  de  Guzman  was  President  of  "  New  Spain,"  as  all  that 
territory  acquired  by  the  conquest  of  Cortez  was  then  called, 
a  slave  of  that  high  dignitary  told  his  master  some  marvelous 
tales  of  a  country  far  away  in  the  north  where  were  to  be 
found  cities  and  towns,  so  large  and  grand  in  their  appoint- 
ments that  they  rivaled  even  the  splendor  and  wealth  of 
Mexico,  the  capital  of  New  Spain.  This  slave  described  in 
particular  seven  cities,  whose  streets  were  filled  with  shops, 
in  which  the  workmen  wrought  in  silver  and  gold  exclusively  ; 
that  these  famous  "seven  cities"  were  located  far  beyond  a 
great  desert,  through  which  it  would  require  forty  days  to 
march.  De  Guzman,  credulous  as  were  all  the  Spaniards  in 
those  days,  and  ready  to  believe  all  the  wonderful  stories  of 
the  riches  of  the  country  they  had  come  so  far  to  conquer, 
immediately  commenced  the  organization  of  a  large  force  to 
discover  the  famous  cities  so  minutely  described  by  his  slave. 
It  is  said  that  this  expedition  was  composed  of  four  hundred 
Spaniards  and  nearly  twenty  thousand  Indians.  * 

The  President  commanded  this  rather  formidable  army 
in  person,  or  at  least  until  he  reached  Culiacan,  for  there  his 
energy  failed  him,  and  he  contented  himself  with  simply  es- 
tablishing a  colony.  His  excuse  for  relinquishing  the  search 
for  the  seven  cities,  was  the  "terrible  and  apparently  inter- 
minable mountains  over  which  he  had  to  cross."  Shortly 
after  his  abandonment  of  the  expedition,  his  slave,  who  had 


*  There  are  many  conflicting  accounts  of  the  number  which  composed  this 
army  and  the  above  may  be  taken  as  within  the  limits  of  probability. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  13 

been  the  principal  guide  on  the  march  as  well,  died,  and  with 
him  perished  for  a  while  the  story  of  the  famous  "  Seven 
Cities,"  whose  people  were  reveling  in  gold  and  silver. 

Eight  years  afterward — in  1538 — there  came  to  the  City 
of  Mexico  three  Spaniards  and  an  Arabian  negro  called  Es- 
tivanico  (Stephen).  These  three  Spaniards,  Alvar  Nunez 
Cabe$a  de  Vaca,  Andres  Dorantes,  Alonzo  del  Castillo  Mal- 
donado,  and  the  negro,  were  the  only  survivors  of  the  expe- 
dition of  Pamphilo  de  Narvaez,  about  which  I  interpolate 
here  a  short  extract  from  its  history,  as  given  by  the  early 
writers;  not  that  it  bears  any  direct  relation  to  the  "  March 
of  Coronado,"  but  on  account  of  the  extraordinary  adven- 
tures of  these  men. 

They  were  part  of  a  company  who,  with  Pamphilo  de 
Narvaez,  sailed  from  the  West  Indies  in  the  spring  of  1528  to 
explore  the  country  of  Florida,  of  which  the  commander  of 
the  expedition,  Pamphilo,  had  been  made  Governor.  Pam- 
philo's. command  consisted  of  four  hundred  men  and  eighty 
horses.  About  the  first  of  April  he  arrived  in  the  harbor  of 
Santa  Cruz  (now  Tampa  Bay),  and  early  in  May,  with  his 
little  command,  forty  only  of  whom  now  were  mounted, 
started  for  the  interior  of  Florida.  He  marched  constantly 
toward  the  North,  keeping  the  coast  in  sight,  and  on  the 
twenty-sixth  of  June  reached  the  Indian  village  named  Apu- 
luche.  Here  he  remained  nearly  a  month,  and  then  resumed 
his  journey  for  more  than  a  week,  when  he  arrived  at  another 
village  called  Aute.  He  made  a  short  halt  at  this  place  and 


14  STORIES  OF  THE 

then  turned  abruptly  to  the  West.  Marching  in  that  direction 
for  nearly  a  fortnight,  his  men  became  disheartened  and  dis- 
pirited in  not  finding  any  of  the  precious  metals,  and  receiv- 
ing nothing  but  insults  and  bad  treatment  from  the  Indians, 
the  command  retraced  its  steps  to  Aute,  where,  failing  to 
glean  any  knowledge  of  the  ships  which  had  been  ordered  to 
follow  them  up  the  coast;  they  built  five  boats,  in  which  all 
the  party  (who  had  not  died  or  been  killed  by  the  Indians), 
now  reduced  to  less  than  three  hundred,  sailed  along  the  con- 
tour of  the  shore.  In  a  few  days  they  discovered  the  mouth 
of  a  swift  running  river,  whose  current  was  so  strong  they 
could  make  no  headway  against  it,  and  their  frail  vessels  were 
carried  out  into  the  Gulf. 

About  a  week  or  ten  days  after  their  embarkation,  while 
making  slow  journey  toward  the  West,  Cabeca  de  Vaca,  in 
command  of  one  of  the  boats,  was  wrecked  on  an  island, 
which  they  immediately  named  Mulhado  (misfortune).  A 
few  days  after  this  mishap,  all  the  remainder  of  the  little  fleet 
were  capsized  during  a  terrible  storm  off  Mulhado,  except 
that  of  Pamphilo,  which  drifted  out  to  sea  and  was  never 
heard  from.  All  those  who  were  not  lost  in  this  storm  lived 
on  the  Island  of  Mulhado  for  more  than  six  years,  and  were 
made  slaves  by  the  Indians,  who  treated  them  with  the  greatest 
cruelty.  In  consequence  of  the  inhuman  bearing  of  the  sav- 
ages toward  them,  and  from  starvation,  most  of  the  unfor- 
tunate Spaniards  died. 

After  a  weary  and  horrible  six  years  of  captivity,  four  of 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  15 

them,  (those  men  previously  mentioned,  and  probably  the  only 
survivors  of  the  whole  party  that  were  saved  from  the  wrecks), 
escaped  from  the  island  and  marched  to  the  North,  as  far  as 
the  mountains  of  Alabama,  from  thence  turned  toward  the 
setting  sun  and  reached  the  Mississippi  river — "the  great 
river  coming  from  the  North" — as  Cabeca  called  it.  They 
continued  on  in  a  westerly  direction,  crossing  the  Arkansas 
and  the  Canadian  at  the  great  canon  of  the  latter  river,  from 
which  point  they  turned  to  the  southwest  and  passed  through 
what  is  now  New  Mexico  and  Arizona  to  Culiacan,  which 
province  Guzman  had  already  settled. 

Upon  reaching  Culiacan,  these  remarkable  men  were 
full  of  strange  stories  and  adventures,  all  of  which  were  told 
to  the  Viceroy,  then  Don  Antonio  de  Mendoca. 

They  stated  to  the  Viceroy  that  the  natives  in  some  por- 
tions of  the  country  through  which  they  passed  on  their  peril- 
ous journey,  told  them  of  rich  and  powerful  cities,  with  houses 
four  and  five  stories  high,  and  that  they  were  situated  in  the 
North. 

Don  Antonia  de  Mendoca  communicated  the  strange 
stories  and  wonderful  adventures  of  the  newly  arrived  Span- 
iards to  Francisco  Vasquez  de  Coronado,  the  new  governor, 
who  immediately  set  out  in  person  for  Culiacan,  and  took 
with  him  three  Franciscan  friars,  among  whom  was  Marcos 
de  Nica,  a  celebrated  man  in  learning. 

As  soon  as  Coronado  reached  Culiacan,  which  journey 
he  made  with  all  possible  haste,  he  ordered  the  three  monks 


16  STORIES  OF  THE 

and  the  negro,  Estevanico,  to  proceed  on  a  voyage  of  dis- 
covery, and  learn  all  they  could  in  relation  to  the  "seven 
cities,"  the  story  of  which  was  now  fully  revived,  eight  years 
after  the  death  of  the  Indian  who  had  first  mentioned  their 
existence  to  the  President  de  Guzman. 

The  three  Spaniards  left  on  their  perilous  mission  in  obe- 
dience to  the  order  of  the  governor,  but  the  negro,  Stephen, 
becoming  distasteful  to  them  from  some  cause,  they  com- 
pelled him  to  go  in  advance  to  pacify  the  natives  of  the  coun- 
try through  which  he  had  passed  on  the  memorable  journey 
from  the  coast  with  Cabeca.  It  is  related  that  as  soon  as 
Stephen  reached  the  region  of  the  "  Seven  Cities  of  Cibola" 
he  made  a  demand  of  their  people,  not  only  for  their  wealth, 
but  their  women.  In  answer  to  this  iniquitous  demand  the 
Indians  killed  him,  and  sent  back  some  of  the  party  that  had 
come  wjth  him.  These  latter,  the  number  not  definitely 
known,  frightened  and  demoralized  at  what  they  had  seen, 
"  went  flying  to  their  homes,"  but  met  the  three  friars  in  the 
desert  some  sixty  leagues  from  Cibola.  When  the  monks 
learned  of  the  death  of  Stephen  they  became  greatly  frightened, 
and  even  distrusting  the  Indians  who  had  gone  out  with  Ste- 
phen, they  made  them  presents  of  everything  they  had  with 
them,  excepting  only  the  paraphernalia  used  in  celebrating 
the  mass,  turned  about,  and  by  forced  marches  went  back  to 
Culiacan,  knowing  no  more  of  the  country  than  when  they 
had  set  out,  except  what  had  been  told  them  by  the  Indians. 

When  they  reached  Culiacan,  they  were  immediately  ad- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  17 

mitted  to  an  audience  with  Coronado,  to  whom  they  gave  a 
rose  colored  tale  of  their  own  adventures;  what  Stephen  had 
said,  and  also  what  the  Indians  had  told  them.  They,  also 
told  Coronado  of  "islands  filled  with  treasure,  which,  they 
were  assured,  existed  in  the  '  Southern  sea.": 

Coronado,  after  listening  with  enthusiastic  delight  to 
their  marvelous  tales,  resolved  to  set  out  immediately  for  the 
city  of  Mexico  to  confer  with  the  Viceroy,  and  took  with  him 
Friar  Marcos  de  Nica,  that  the  latter  might  tell  in  his  own 
glowing  language  to  the  Viceroy  in  person  all  that  had  been 
told  him. 

Coronado  must  have  been  exceedingly  credulous,  and 
swallowed  with  avidity  all  the  strange  things  he  had  heard, 
for  he  gathered  a  few  of  his  most  intimate  friends,  and  to 
them  alone  disclosed  what  the  old  Friar  had  reported.  He 
added  to  the  story  himself  greatly,  and  exacted  the  strictest 
secrecy  in  relation  to  the  wealth  of  the  alleged  famous  "  Seven 
Cities." 

He  arrived  in  Mexico  in  due  season,  and  immediately 
closeted  himself  with  the  Viceroy,  to  whom  he  related  the 
wonderful  stories  he  had  learned  from  Marcos  de  Nica  and 
the  others  of  his  party.  Coronado  then  proclaimed 
throughout  that  region  that  he  had  discovered  the  * '  Seven 
Cities  of  Cibola,"  and  began  to  organize  an  expedition  for 
their  conquest. 

Meanwhile  Friar  Marcos  had  been  elevated  through  the 
influence  of  the  church  to  the  dignity  of  "  Provincial  of  the 


18  STORIES  OF  THE 

Franciscans"  and  their  religious  services  were  rilled  with 
the  stories  of  the  wonderful  discoveries,  which  created  such 
an  enthusiasm,  and  coming  from  such  a  source,  the  infal- 
lible church,  that  volunteers  offered  their  services  in  crowds, 
to  the  number,  it  is  stated,  of  three  hundred  Spaniards  and 
eight  hundred  Indians,  all  eager  to  march  at  once  in  quest  of 
the  famous  "  Seven  Cities  of  Cibola."  The  majority  of  the 
Spaniards  were  of  noble  birth,  and  they  met  immediately 
and  proclaimed  Francisco  Vasquez  de  Coronado,  captain,  in 
honor  of  the  fact  that  he  was  the  discoverer  of  the  "Seven 
Cities,"  the  objective  point  of  the  expedition. 

The  Viceroy  Mendoca  aided  to  the  extent  of  the  power, 
in  preparing  the  little  company  for  their  hazardous  enter- 
prise, and  appointed  Compostella,  a  town  some  three  hun- 
dred miles  from  Mexico,  as  the  place  of  rendezvous,  and  the 
time,  Shrove  Tuesday.  After  this  expedition  had  left  the 
capital  city,  the  Viceroy  ordered  Don  Pedro  d'Alarcon  to 
leave  for^La  Nativadad,  a  village  on  the  coast,  and  in  "com- 
mand of  two  small  ships  to  proceed  to  Jalisco  for  the  remain- 
der of  the  supplies  belonging  to  the  expedition  which  the 
troops  could  not  carry.  The  ships  were  then  to  follow  the 
coast  and  keep  pace  with  the  army  of  Coronado,  which  it 
was  thought  from  the  received  accounts  of  the  direction  it 
was  to  take,  would  always  be  along  the  sea.  When  all  these 
preliminaries  had  been  effected,  the  Viceroy  departed  for 
Compostella  with  a  large '^retinue  of  noblemen,  intending  to 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  19 

review  the  army  of  Coronado  in  person,  and  give  them  such 
encouragement  as  his  presence  would  naturally  inspire. 

This  right  royal  cavalcade,  with  the  Viceroy  at  its  head, 
was  received  all  along  the  route  with  the  most  distinguished 
consideration,  and  accorded  that  obsequious  flattery  which 
always  bends  to  rank  and  station  even  in  this  age,  in  mo- 
narchical countries.  When  he  arrived  at  Compostella  he 
became  the  guest  of  Christoral  de  Onale,  captain  general  of 
that  province,  and  the  next  morning  reviewed  the  troops 
comprising  Coronado's  little  army,  and  after  the  celebration 
of  the  mass  before  the  entire  company  made  them  a  spirited 
address.  After  the  Viceroy  had  pictured  the  wonderful 
results  to  be  gained  by  this  expedition,  not  only  to  themselves 
as  individuals,  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view,  but  to  the  re- 
nown and  splendor  of  the  Spanish  throne,  he  requsted  every- 
one to  swear  on  a  missal  containing  the  Holy  Evangelists, 
never  to  abandon  their  commander,  no  matter  what  might 
befall,  and  to  implicitly  obey  all  orders,  and  under  all  cir- 
cumstances. 

Early  the  next  morning,  with  all  the  pomp  and  etiquette 
of  royalty,  Coronado  gave  the  orders  to  move  forward ; 
seated  on  a  magnificent  stallion  whose  trappings  were  orna- 
mented with  gold  and  silver  and  emblazoned  with  symbols  of 
the  Spanish  throne,  he  led  his  little  army,  which  stepped  proud- 
ly and  confidently  to  the  command  of  their  general,  toward 
the  north.  The  Viceroy,  accompanied  by  his  retinue  of  gen- 
erals and  nobles,  escorted  the  expedition  as  a  mark  of  honor 


20  STORIES  OF  THE 

and  encouragement,  for  two  whole  days,  and  then  reluc- 
tantly retraced  his  steps  to  the  capital.  Almost  immediately 
Coronado's  army  began  to  feel  the  effects  of  marching 
through  a  wild  and  unknown  country ;  they  were  compelled 
to  pack  their  baggage  on  the  backs  of  their  horses,  and  as 
this  was  a  new  experience  it  amounted  to  almost  a  complete 
failure.  In  wearily  plodding  over  the  ragged  spurs  and 
sharp  ridges  of  the  interminable  ranges  which  they  were 
obliged  to  cross,  the  animals  would  loose  their  foothold,  and 
the  packs,  unskillfully  tied  on,  lurching  a  little,  would  fre- 
quently throw  its  weight  toward  the  side  of  the  precipice, 
and  down  both  horse  and  baggage  would  roll,  for  a  thousand 
feet,  perhaps,  into  the  dark  and  rocky  canon  below.  It  was 
no  child's  play,  and  each  man  of  the  little  army,  nobleman 
and  common  soldiers  alike,  took  their  turn  in  guiding  the 
horses  over  the  sinuous  passage  among  the  rocks  and  beet- 
ling cliffs.  At  last  after  a  painful  journey  the  expedition 
reached  Chiametta,  where  it  met  Melchor  Diaz  and  Juan  de 
Saldibar,  captains  in  the  Spanish  army,  and  a  handful  of 
determined  soldiers,  who  had  by  a  previous  order  of  Coronado 
explored  the  country  in  advance  of  the  main  command  as 
far  as  Chichilicese,  on  the  edge  of  Friar  Marco's  "Desert" 
and  some  eight  or  nine  hundred  miles  from  Culiacan.* 

Halting  at  Chiametta,  to  hear  what  report  the  Spanish 

captains,  Diaz  and  Saldibar  had  to  make  in  relation  to  their 
•» 

*This  distance  is  made  up  of  estimates  by  myself,  but  all  accounts  of  measure- 
ments in  the  narrative  must  be  taken  cum  grano  salt's,  as  it  is  impossible  in  conse- 
quence of  the  incompleteness  of  the  old  maps  to  approximate  correctness. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  21 

journeys,  the  soldiers  and  Indians  of  the  command  seized 
this  opportunity  of  rest  to  fish,  and  to  listen  to  the  stories 
of  their  comrades  around  the  camp-fires. 

The  next  day  -after  a  secret  interview  between  Coronado 
and  the  two  captains,  it  was  bruited  among  the  rank  and  file 
that  the  account  given  of  the  country  in  the  region  of  the 
"  Desert,"  and  the  prospect  from  the  top  of  the  hills  into 
that  "Great  Plain"  was  of  the  "  most  uncheerful  and  mel- 
ancholy character,"  in  consequence  of  which  the  troops 
became  dispirited,  and  an  atmosphere  of  discouragement 
settled  upon  the  brave  little  band.  We  should  not  disparage 
this  fact,  however,  for  we  must  not  entertain  the  idea  for  a 
moment,  that  anything  like  cowardice  entered  as  a  factor  in 
the  elements  which  made  up  the  character  of  these  men ;  we 
should  rather  remember  that  we  are  looking  back  through  the 
dim  vista  of  nearly  four  hundred  years,  and  that  not  only  the 
limited  region  which  the  love  of  conquest  and  spirit  of  adven- 
ture tempted  them  to  enter,  was  an  unknown  country — but 
that  the  whole  continent  of  America  was  an  unexplored  terri- 
tory— a  veritable  terra  incognita  in  fact — and  it  required  a  de- 
termination and  energy,  which  even  the  boasted  prowess  of 
the  nineteenth  century  might  honorably  shrink  from.  It  was 
no  wonder  then,  that  this  little  band  of  Spaniards  lost  heart 
when  the  dismal  and  melancholy  interview  between  the  gene- 
ral and  the  captains — who  had  returned  sick  and  desponding 
from  their  reconnoisance — spread  through  the  camp. 

But  Friar  de  Nica  disputed  with  Diaz  and  Saldibar ;   he 


22  STORIES  OF  THE 

accused  them  of  lying,  and  waxed  wroth  toward  them  in  his 
harangues  to  the  soldiers  as  they  listened  to  him  with  that  pa- 
tience and  attention  due  his  exalted  position  in  the  Church. 
The  Friar  told  them  as  they  gathered  around  their  camp-fires, 
that  the  country  was  fertile  and  abounded  in  precious  metals ; 
that  they  should  not  return  without  full  reward  for  all  their 
hardships,  and  that  the  world  would  yet  ring  with  the  story  of 
their  achievements. 

The  wily  Friar  thus  under  cover  of  his  priestly  garb  re- 
stored them  to  a  condition  of  obedience,  and  persuaded  them 
by  his  elegant  word-pictures — for  history  shows  that  he  was 
an  eloquent  rascal — to  continue  their  march  in  search  of  the 
"  Seven  Cities,"  which,  he  assured  them  had  a  veritable  exist- 
ence; this  was  on  Easter  Sunday,  1540,  and  on  the  next  day 
the  now  freshly  exhilarated  little  army  took  up  its  line  of  march 
for  Culiacan.  When  they  reached  Culiacan  the  citizens  turned 
out  en  masse  to  receive  them,  and  showered  upon  Coronado  a 
profusion  of  presents,  to  his  followers  they  gave  an  abundance 
of  fruits  and  supplies,  and  furnished  them  with  everything 
necessary  to  continue  their  perilous  journey  into  the  "Des- 
ert." 

Culiacan — where  years  before  Nuna  de  Guzman  estab- 
lished his  colony — some  seven  hundred  miles  from  Mexico — 
was  the  last  place  on  the  march  inhabited  by  their  own  peo- 
ple, and  the  command  remained  here  more  than  a  fortnight 
to  recuperate  their  worn-out  horses,  and  make  their  last  prep- 
arations for  comfort,  for  from  this  point  on  there  was  no  hope 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  23 

of  succor,  except  what  might  possibly  come  from  the  natives, 
and  these  they  knew  nothing  about,  save  from  such  tales  as 
had  been  told  them — the  details  of  which,  to  say  the  least — 
were  not  by  any  means  flattering,  or  held  out  much  promise. 
At  the  end  of  their  somewhat  protracted  halt  at  Culia- 
can,  Coronado  made  a  new  disposition  of  his  forces,  and  devi- 
ated somewhat  from  his  original  programme.  Taking  fifty  of  his 
noblemen — his  special  personal  friends — a  portion  of  the  foot- 
soldiers  and  all  the  monks,  he  left  Culiacan  after  ordering  the 
remainder  of  his  army  to  wait  until  he  had  been  gone  a  fort- 
night and  then  follow  on  his  trail.  Castenada,  his  historian, 
says  :  "  When  the  General  had  passed  through  all  the  inhab- 
ited region  to  Chichilticale,  where  the  desert  begins,  and  saw 
that  there  was  nothing  good,  he  could  not  repress  his  sadness, 
notwithstanding  the  marvels  that  were  promised  further  on. 
No  one  save  the  Indians  who  had  accompanied  the  negro  had 
seen  them,  and  already  they  had  been  caught  in  lies.  He 
was  especially  afflicted  to  find  the  Chichilticale,  of  which  so 
much  had  been  boasted,  to  be  a  single,  ruined  and  roofless 
house,  which  at  one  time  seemed  to  have  been  fortified.  It 
was  easy  to  see  that  this  house,  which  was  built  of  red  earth, 
was  the  work  of  civilized  people  who  had  come  from  afar. 
On  quitting  this  place  they  entered  the  desert.  At  the  end 
of  fifteen  days  they  came  within  eight  leagues  of  Cibola,  on 
the  banks  of  a  river  they  called  the  Vermijo,  on  account  of 
its  red  and  troubled  waters.  Mullets,  resembling  those  of 
Spain  were  found  in  it.  It  was  there  that  the  first  Indians  of 


24  STORIES  OF  THE 

the  country  were  discovered ;  but  when  they  saw  the  Span- 
iards they  fled  and  gave  the  alarm.  During  the  night  of  the 
succeeding  day,  when  not  more  than  two  leagues  from  the 
village,  some  Indians  who  were  concealed,  suddenly  uttered 
such  piercing  cries  (the  war-whoop  ?)  that  our  soldiers  became 
alarmed,  notwithstanding,  they  pretended  not  to  regard  it  as 
a  surprise ;  and  there  were  even  some  who  saddled  their  hor- 
ses the  wrong  way,  but  these  were  men  who  belonged  to  the 
new  levies.  The  best  warriors  mounted  their  horses  and  scoured 
the  country.  The  Indians  who  knew  the  land  escaped  easily 
and  not  one  of  them  was  taken.  On  the  following  day  in 
good  order  we  entered  the  inhabited  country. 

Cibola  was  the  first  village  we  discovered ;  jon  beholding 
it  the  army  broke  forth  with  maledictions  on  Friar  Marcos  de 
Nica.  God  grant  that  he  may  feel  none  of  them.  Cibola  is 
built  on  a  rock ;  this  village  is  so  small  that  in  truth  there  are 
many  farmers  in  New  Spain  that  make  a  better  appearance. 
It  may  contain  two  hundred  warriors.  The  houses  are  built 
in  three  or  four  stories ;  they  are  small,  not  spacious,  and  have 
courts,  as  a  single  court  serves  for  a  whole  quarter — the  inhab- 
itants of  the  province  were  united  there.  It  is  composed  of 
seven  towns,  some  which  are  larger  and  better  fortified  than 
Cibola.  These  Indians,  ranged  in  good  order,  awaited  us  at 
some  distance  from  the  village.  They  were  very  loth  to  ac- 
cept peace,  and  when  they  were  required  so  to  do  by  our 
interpreters,  they  menaced  us  by  gestures  ;  shouting  our  war- 
cry  of  Saint  lago,  we  charged  upon  them  and  quickly  caused 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  25 

them  to  fly.  Nevertheless  it  was  necessary  to  get  possession 
of  Cibola,  which  was  no  easy  achievement,  for  the  road  lead- 
ing to  it  was  both  narrow  and  winding.  The  general  was 
knocked  down  by  the  blow  of  a  stone  as  he  mounted  in  the 
assault,  and  he  would  have  been  slain,  had  it  not  been  for 
Garci  Lopez  de  Cardenas  and  Hernando  d'Alvarado  who 
threw  themselves  before  him,  and  received  the  blows  of 
the  stones,  which  were  designed  for  him  and  fell  in  large  num- 
bers ;  nevertheless  as  it  is  impossible  to  resist  the  first  impet- 
uous charge  of  Spaniards,  the  village  was  gained  in  less  than 
an  hour.  It  was  found  filled  with  provisions  which  were 
much  needed,  and  in  a  short  time  the  whole  province  was  forc- 
ed to  accept  peace."  Coronado,  as  a  good  soldier  should, 
immediately  made  his  little  command  comfortable,  and  the 
strange  and  novel  scenes  among  the  natives  sufficed  to  recon- 
cile the  troops  for  a  while  to  the  intense  disappointment  they 
had  suffered,  but  a  spirit  of  discontent  and  of  desire  for  fur- 
ther exploration,  inherent  in  the  Spanish  in  those  days,  de- 
manded constant  work  to  keep  them  at  all  content. 

Coronado,  to  control  the  element  of  discontent  that  again 
brooded  over  his  command,  organized  little  reconnoisances 
from  his  stronghold,  into  the  neighboring  districts,  and  hear- 
ing from  one  of  his  conquered  Indians  that  there  were  seven 
other  cities  like  those  of  Cibola,  he  ordered  seventeen  of  his  cav- 
aliers and  a  few  of  the  infantry  under  command  of  Don  Pedro 
de  Tobar,  to  search  for  them.  A  Franciscan  monk,  Friar 
Juan  de  Pudilla,  who  had  once  been  a  soldier  himself,  accom- 


26  STORIES  OF  THE 

panied  Don  Pedro.  In  relation  to  this  expedition  of  De 
Tobar's  to  this  second  group  of  ' 'Seven  Cities,"  the  histo- 
rian says:  "The  rumor  had  spread  among  their  inhabitants 
that  Cibola  was  captured  by  a  very  ferocious  race  of  peo- 
ple, who  bestrode  horses  that  devoured  men,  and  as  they 
knew  nothing  of  horses,  this  information  filled  them  with  the 
greatest  astonishment.  But  notwithstanding  all  this,  Don 
Pedro  met  with  some  show  of  resistance,  and  was  obliged  to 
make  a  series  of  charges  among  the  infuriated  savages,  killing 
large  numbers  of  them  before  he  was  permitted  to  take  peace- 
able possession  of  the  towns.  When  he  had  sufficiently 
overawed  them  by  the  powers  of  the  Spanish  armies — the  ter- 
rible appearance  of  the  horses,  had  as  much  to  do  with  it  as  any- 
thing else — the  savages  hurried  to  their  houses  and  begged 
him  not  to  destroy  them.  They  brought  out  presents  of 
woven  goods,  fruits,  corn,  fowls,  and  a  few  precious  stones 
as  peace-offerings,  which  the  Spaniards  accepted,  and  began 
to  question  them  of  the  country  and  its  resources.  They 
learned  from  these  Indians,  of  a  great  river,  on  whose  banks 
lived  people  who  were  immensely  tall,  and  had  dwellings 
much  greater  in  all  their  proportions  than  the  ones  which  they 
now  looked  on.  With  this  information,  Don  Pedro  returned 
to  Cibola  and  imparted  the  information  he  had  gathered  to 
Coronado.  Coronado  immediately  upon  receipt  of  this  in- 
telligence, dispatched  Don  Garcie  Lopez  de  Cardenas  with  a 
dozen  men  to  explore  the  wonderful  river  spoken  of  by  the 
Indians  to  Don  Pedro. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  27 

De  Cardenas  apparently  marched  to  the  '  'seven  cities" 
conquered  where  he  was  furnished  with  supplies  by  the  na- 
tives, and  from  whom  he  evidently  received  further  and 
correct  information  in  relation  to  the  "River." 

Leaving  the  last  mentioned  towns,  they  wandered  for 
nearly  a  month  through  a  desert  and  reached  a  stream  whose 
banks  were  so  steep  that,  as  the  historian  relates  it,  "they 
thought  themselves  elevated  three  or  four  leagues  in  the  air." 
The  adventurous  little  band  marched  for  some  days  along  the 
bank  of  the  strange  river,  hoping  to  find  some  point  at  which 
they  could  descend  to  the  water,  which  to  them  appeared 
only  a  few  feet  wide,  but  which  in  reality  was  a  mile  and  a 
half,  according  to  the  declarations  of  the  Indians. 

At  last  after  much  weary  and  fruitless  wandering,  they 
reached  a  place  where  descent  seemed  practicable,  and  Mel- 
gosa  Juan  Galeras,  and  a  private,  who  were  the  smallest  men 
in  the  expedition,  determined  to  make  the  attempt.  They 
clambered  down  among  the  jagged  points  of  rock  until  those 
above  on  the  edge  of  the  precipice  could  no  longer  see  them. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  two  venturesome  men  came 
back  by  the  same  path  and  reported  their  attempt  a  failure. 
They  could  not  reach  the  water's  edge,  for  what  appeared 
above  as  small  shelves  of  rock,  were  really  huge  masses  with 
perpendicular  walls  sixty  and  a  hundred  feet  high. 

They  only  reached  about  one  third  of  the  distance,  and 
from  there  the  stream  looked  wide  and  confirmed  the  story 
of  the  Indians  in  relation  to  it.  They  assured  their  comrades 


28  STORIES  OF  THE 

that  some  of  the  rocks  wkich  from  the  top  of  the  bank  ap- 
peared no  taller  than  a  man,  were  in  truth,  higher  and  loftier 
than  the  tower  of  the  Cathedral  of  Seville.* 

Castenado  says:  "The  river  was  the  Tizon.  A  spot 
was  reached  much  nearer  its  source,  an.d  that  the  Spaniards 
retraced  their  steps  to  Cibola,  and  this  expedition  had  no 
other  result.  On  their  march  back,  they  came  to  a  water- 
fall with  crystals  of  salt,  large  quantities  of  which  they 
broke  off  and  carried  to  Cibola. 

During  the  absence  of  De  Cardenas  to  the  Great  Canon 
of  the  Tizon  (Colorado  River)  some  Indians  whose  homes 
were  far  to  the  east,  arrived  at  Cibola.  They  called  their  coun- 
try Cicuye,  and  were  ruled  over  by  a  chief  whose  name  was 
Bigotes,  in  consequence  of  his  wearing  huge  mustaches. 
Bigotes  came  to  Cibola  with  his  subjects  to  offer  his  and  their 
services  to  the  Spaniards,  of  whom  they  had  heard  remarka- 
ble stories  way  off  in  their  own  province. 

These  Indians  brought  with  them  as  presents  to  Corona- 
do,  skins,  shields,  and  other  articles,  and  in  exchange  for 
this  courtesy,  Coronado  made  them  presents  of  necklaces  of 
glass  beads,  and  bells,  and  as  the  Indians  had  never  seen  such 
things  before  were  much  pleased  as  well  as  astonished. 

One  of  the  Indians  told  them  of  cows  and  showed  the 
picture  of  one  painted  on  his  body. 


*This  was  the  Great  Canon  of  the  Colorado,  where  for  hundreds  of  miles  the 
cut  edges  of  the  table  land  rise  abruptly,  often  perpendicularly,  from  the  water's 
edge,  forming  walls  from  three  to  six  thousand  feet  high. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  29 

Castenado  says:  "We  would  never  have  guessed  it 
from  seeing  the  skins  of  these  animals,  for  they  are  covered 
with  a  frizzled  hair  which  resembles  wool."* 

Coronado  listened  with  marked  attention  to  the  story  of 
Bigotes  and  his  men,  and  called  a  council  of  his  Cavaliers  to 
listen  and  project  another  expedition  to  that  region. 

He  appointed  Captain  Hernado  d'  Alvarado  to  the  com- 
mand with  twenty  men,  and  ordered  them  to  go  with  the 
Indians,  but  to  return  in  eighty  days  and  make  a  report  of 
what  he  might  discover. 

Alvarado  made  his  preparations  in  a  short  time,  and 
with  his  gallant  little  party,  and  Indians  as  guides,  started  on 
his  enigmatical  mission. 

Castenado  thus  relates  the  march:  "Five  days  after, 
they  arrived  at  a  village  named  Acuco,  built  on  a  rock.  The 
inhabitants  who  are  able  to  send  about  two  hundred  warriors 
into  the  field,  are  the  most  formidable  brigands  in  the  prov- 
ince. This  village  was  very  strongly  posted,  inasmuch  as  it 
was  only  reached  by  one  path,  and  was  built  upon  a  rock  pre- 
cipitous on  all  its  other  sides,  and  at  such  a  height  that  the 
ball  from  an  arquebuse  could  scarcely  reach  its  summit.  It 
was  entered  by  a  strairway  cut  out  by  the  hand  of  man,  which 


*This  was  the  first  idea  the  Spaniards  received  of  the  Buffalo,  but  they  always 
speak  of  them  as  VACAS  (Cows)  as  we  shall  see  further  on  in  our  sketch  when  Cor- 
onado and  his  command  reach  the  true  Buffalo  country — that  is  the  Great  Plains  of 
Kansas. 


30  STORIES  OF  THE 

began  at  the  bottom  of  the  declivitous  rock,  and  led  up  to  the 
village." 

"The  stairway  was  of  suitable  width  for  the  first  two 
hundred  steps,  but  after  these,  were  a  hundred  more  much 
narrower,  and  when  the  top  was  finally  to  be  reached,  it  was 
necessary  to  scramble  up  the  three  last  toises  by  placing  the 
feet  in  holes  scraped  in  the  rock,  and  as  the  ascender  could 
scarcely  make  the  point  of  his  toe  enter  them,  he  was  forced 
to  cling  to  the  precipice  with  his  hands." 

11  On  the  summit  there  was  a  great  arsenal  of  huge  stones, 
which  the  defenders,  without  exposing  themselves  could  roll 
down  on  their  assailants,  so  that  no  army,  no  matter  what  its 
strength  might  be,  could  force  this  passage.  There  was  on 
the  top  a  sufficient  space  of  ground  to  cultivate  and  store  a 
large  supply  of  corn,  as  well  as  cisterns  to  contain  water  and 
snow." 

At  this  place  the  Indians  were  at  first  disposed  to  be 
hostile  as  they  saw  the  Spaniards  approach,  and  told  them  not 
to  pass  over  a  certain  line  they  had  marked  on  the  ground, 
but  as  the  latter  paid  no  attention  to  the  dictation  and  made 
preparations  for  battle,  the  Indians'  bravado  soon  oozed  out, 
and  they  brought  presents  of  skins,  nuts,  flour  and  corn,  and 
laid  them  at  Alvarado's  feet. 

After  resting  at  this  village  for  a  short  time,  and  replen- 
ishing his  little  commissary  with  the  best  offerings  of  the  In- 
dians, Alvarado  journeyed  on,  and  in  three  days  more  reach- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  31 

ed  another  town  called  Tigeux  whose  people  knowing  Bigotes 
received  the  Spaniards  very  graciously. 

Here  Alvarado  was  so  much  gratified  that  he  dispatched 
a  courier  back  to  Coronado,  and  suggested  the  propriety  of 
the  whole  command  coming  to  Tiguex  and  going  into  winter 
quarters. 

Coronado  was  delighted  when  he  heard  the  courier's  re- 
port, and  flattering  himself  that  his  difficulties  were  about 
ended,  and  the  prospects  brightening,  he  determined  to  act 
upon  Alvarado's  advice  and  move  to  Tiguex. 

Alvarado,  as  soon  as  his  messenger  had  departed  to 
Cibola  with  the  dispatch  for  Coronado,  continued  on  his  march 
for  nearly  a  week,  at  the  end  of  which  time  he  came  to  an- 
other village  called  Cicuye.  Cicuye  was  very  strongly  forti- 
fied and  the  houses  four  stories  in  height.  Alvarado  remained 
here  some  time  to  recuperate,  and  one  day  while  idling 
through  the  town  chanced  to  come  upon  "an  Indian  slave 
who  was  a  native  of  the  country  adjacent  to  Florida."  * 

This  slave,  who  was  very  communicative,  the  Spaniards 
nick-named  II  Turco  (the  Turk)  because  he  resembled  so 
positively  that  class  of  people. 

' '  II  Turco  "  was  full  of  strange  stories  and  adventures, 
to  which  the  credulous  Spanish,  ready  to  believe  anything, 
listened  with  the  greatest  earnestness. 

He  said  there  were  great  cities,  and  immense  amounts  of 


*  The  name  of  Florida  at  that  time  was  applied   to  all  that  tract  of  country 
from  Canada  to  the  river  Del  Norte. 


32  STORIES  OF  THE 

gold  and  silver  in  his  country,  and  beyond  their  extensive 
plains,  over  which  roamed  herds  of  cows  so  numerous  that 
they  could  not  be  counted. 

Alvarado,  upon  this,  determined  to  make  a  journey  to 
the  buffalo  country  and  take  the  slave  with  him  as  guide. 
He  was  absent  some  time,  saw  a  few  buffalo  and  then  retraced 
his  steps  to  Tiguex  to  report  to  Coronado,  whom  he  supposed 
must  have  reached  there  by  that  time. 

While  Alvarado  was  making  this  series  of  little  excursions 
from  Tiguex,  Coronado,  who  had  started  from  Cibola,  heard 
through  some  friendly  Indians  of  eight  other  towns,  so  he 
determined  to  visit  them  on  his  march  to  Tiguex. 

He  selected  thirty  or  forty  of  his  most  efficient  soldiers, 
and  leaving  the  main  command  to  journey  on,  he  made  a 
detour  in  search  of  the  reported  eight  cities.  It  appears  that 
in  ten  or  eleven  days  he  found  them  in  a  province  called 
Tutahaco  but  they  did  not  compare  even  with  the  towns  at 
Cibola,  those  having  been  built  of  stone,  these  of  earth  only. 
So  diappointed,  he  set  out  for  Tiguex.* 

< 

When  Coronado  reached  Tiguex,  he  found  Alvarado 
already  returned  from  the  buffalo  country,  and  was  much 
gratified  by  reports  brought  him  by  the  Captain  and  "  II  Tur- 
co,"  of  that  region. 

Castenado  says  :  "This  Indian  (the  slave)  told  Coronado, 
that  in  his  country  there  was  a  river  two  leagues  wide,  in 
which  fish  as  large  as  horses  were  to  be  found;  that  there 


*  This  portion  of  the  journey  is  too  ambiguous  and  I  have  severely  let  it  alone. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  33 

were  canoes  with  twenty  oarsmen  on  each  side,  which  were 
also  propelled  by  sails ;  that  the  lords  of  the  land  were  seated 
in  the  sterns  upon  a  dais,  while  a  large  golden  eagle  was  af- 
fixed to  their  prows.  He  added  that  the  Sovereign  of  this 
region  took  his  siesta  beneath  a  huge  tree  to  whose  branches 
golden  bells  were  hung  which  were  rung  by  the  agitation  of 
the  summer  breeze." 

He  declared,  morever,  "  that  the  commonest  vessels  were 
of  sculptured  silver;  that  the  bowls,  plates  and  dishes  were 
of  gold.  He  called  gold  acochis.  He  was  believed  because 
he  spoke  with  great  assurance,  and  because  when  some  trin- 
kets of  copper  were  shown  him,  he  smelt  them  and  said  they 
were  not  gold.  He  knew  gold  and  silver  well  and  made  no 
account  of  the  other  metals." 

"The  General  sent  Hernando  d' Alvarado  to  Cicuye  to 
reclaim  the  golden  bracelets  which  the  '  Turk '  pretended  to 
have  been  taken  from  him  when  he  was  made  prisoner. 
When  Alvarado  arrived  there  the  inhabitants  received  him 
kindly,  as  they  had  done  before,  but  they  positively  affirmed 
that  they  had  no  knowledge  of  the  bracelets,  and  they  assured 
him  that  the  Turk  was  a  great  liar  who  deceived  him." 

"Alvarado  seeing  there  was  nothing  else  he  could  do, 
lured  the  Chief,  Bigotes,  and  the  Cacique  under  his  tent,  and 
caused  them  to  be  chained. 

"The  inhabitants  reproached  the  Captain  with  being  a 
man  without  faith  or  friendship,  and  launched  a  shower  of 
arrows  at  him.  Alvarado  conducted  these  prisoners  to 


34  STORIES  OF  THE 

Tiguex,  where  the  general  retained  them  more  than  six 
months." 

Let  us  turn  to  the  main  command  of  Coronado,  which 
it  will  be  remembered  the  General  had  left  to  make  a  detour. 

It  was  sometime  after  Coronado  had  departed  before  the 
army,  agreeably  to  orders,  commenced  its  march  for  Tiguex. 
The  command  devolved  upon  Don  Tristan  d' Arellano,  and 
on  the  first  day  out  they  came  to  the  largest  village  yet  seen. 
Here  they  camped,  so  well  pleased  were  they  with  the  sur- 
roundings. 

Castenado  says  of  this  village:  " There  they  found 
houses  of  seven  stories,  which  was  seen  nowhere  else. 
These  belonged  to  private  individuals,  and  served  as  for- 
tresses. They  rose  so  far  above  the  others  that  they  have  the 
appearance  of  towers.  There  are  embrasures  and  loop-holes, 
from  which  lances  may  be  thrown,  and  the  place  defended. 
As  all  these  villages  have  no  streets,  all  the  roofs  are  flat,  and 
common  for  all  the  inhabitants;  it  is  therefore  necessary  to 
take  possession,  first  of  all,  of  these  large  houses  which  serve 
as  defenses." 

When  the  army  arrived  at  Tiguex  it  was  received  with 
demonstrations  of  welcome,  and  soon,  like  all  soldiers,  in 
the  rest  and  good  living,  forgot  all  its  troubles  in  getting  there. 

But  soon  the  Spaniards  through  their  own  foolishness, 
commencing  with  that  of  Alvarado,  just  related,  began  to 
meet  with  disaster  on  every  hand. 

The  action  of  Alvarado  threw  the  whole  province  into 


SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  35 

revolt,  and  the  Spaniards  after  burning  one  or  two  small 
villages,  and  killing  many  of  the  inhabitants  laid  siege  to 
Tiguex,  which  they  did  not  succeed  in  qapturing  until  after 
fifty  days. 

All  the  villages,  one  after  another  submitted,  but  the 
people  left  their  homes  and  would  not  return  to  them  while 
the  now — and  justly  too  —  hated  Spaniards  remained  in  the 
country. 

On  the  5th  of  May,  1541,  the  earliest  date  at  which  the 
Tiguex  river  (the  Rio  Grande)  was  clear  of  ice,  Coronado 
commenced  his  march  for  Quivira  to  look  for  gold  and  silver, 
which  "II  Turco"  had  told  them  existed  there  in  such  large 
quantities.  The  army  marched  by  Cicuye,  and  a  few  days 
after  leaving  the  latter  place  they  came  to  a  river  which  was 
wide  and  swift  and  crossed  a  range  of  mountains  near  it. 
They  called  the  river  the  Cicuye,  and  they  were  compelled 
to  remain  in  camp  on  its  banks  while  they  built  a  bridge.  In 
about  two  weeks  after  leaving  this  river,  Coronado  met  the 
first  genuine  Indians  of  the  plains.  Their  lodges  were  made 
of  tanned  cow  (buffalo)  skins,  and  they  were  called  querech- 
aos.  It  was  here  they  saw  their  first  buffalo,  and  the  soldiers 
and  cavaliers  killed  great  numbers  of  them.  It  seems  that 
after  getting  about  nine  hundred  miles  from  Tiguex,  the  army 
finding  itself  with  but  little  provisions  left,  Coronado  ordered 
Don  Tristan  d' Arellano  to  fall  back  to  Tiguex  with  the 
whole  army,  excepting  thirty  mounted,  and  six  dismounted 


36  STORIES  OF  THE 

soldiers,  whom  Coronado  took,  and  in  command  of  this 
handful  of  men  continued  his  search  for  Quivira. 

The  historian  says :  "The  guides  conducted  the  general 
to  Quivira  in  forty-eight  days,  for  they  had  traveled  too  much 
in  the  direction  of  Florida.  At  Quivira  they  found  neither  gold 
nor  silver,  and  learning,  from  the  Turk  that  he  had  at  the 
instance  of  the  people  of  Cicuye  purposely  decoyed  the  army 
far  into  the  plains  to  kill  the  horses,  and  thus  make  the  men 
helpless,  and  fall  an  easy  prey  to  the  natives,  and  that  all  he 
said  about  the  great  quantity  of  silver  and  gold  to  be  found 
was  false,  they  strangled  him." 

"The  Indians  of  this  region,  so  far  from  having  large 
quantities  of  gold  and  silver,  did  not  know  these  metals. 
The  Cacique  wore  on  his  breast  a  copper  plate,  of  which  he 
made  a  great  parade,  which  he  would  not  have  done  had  he 
known  anything  about  these  precious  metals." 

The  following  quaint  description  .is  given  of  the  Great 
Plains  over  which  the  exhausted  Spaniards  wandered  after 
the  treachery  of  II  Turco,  and  they  were  obliged  to  retrace 
their  march  to  Tiguex  half  famished.*  "From  Cicuye  they 
went  to  Quivira,  which,  after  their  account  is  almost  three 
hundred  leagues  distant,  through  mighty  plains,  and  sandy 
heaths  so  smooth  and  wearisome,  and  bare  of  wood  that  they 
made  heaps  of  ox-dung,  for  want  of  stones  and  trees,  that 
they  might  not  lose  themselves  at  their  return  :  for  three 


Hakluyt's  Voyages,  Vol.  III.  London  1600. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  37 

horses  were  lost  on  that  plain,  and  one  Spaniard  which  went 
from  his  company  on  hunting. 

' '  All  that  way  of  plains  are  as  full  of  crooked-back  oxen, 
as  the  mountain  Serrena  in  Spain  is  of  sheep,  but  there  is  no 
such  people  as  keep  those  cattle. 

"They  were  a  great  succor  for  the  hungry  and  want  of 
bread  which  our  people  stood  in  need  of. 

"  One  day  it  rained  in  that  plain  a  great  shower  of  hail, 
as  big  as  oranges,  which  caused'  many  tears,  weakness  and 
bowes. 

lt  Quivira  is  in  forty  degrees,  it  is  a  temperate  country, 
and  hath  very  good  waters  and  much  grass,  plums,  mulber- 
ries, nuts,  melons  and  grapes,  which  ripen  very  well. 

"There  is  no  cotton,  and  the  natives  of  that  country  ap- 
parel themselves  with  ox-hides  and  deer  skins. 

"Many  of  our  people  sought  to  have  dwelt  there,  but 
Coronado  would  not  consent,  saying  they  could  not  maintain, 
nor  defend  themselves  in  so  poor  a  country,  and  so  far  from 
succor. 

"  They  traveled  about  nine  hundred  leagues  in  this  coun- 
try. All  the  way  between  Cicuye  and  Quivira  is  a  vast  plain 
without  trees  and  stones,  and  hath  but  few  and  small  towns. 

"  The  men  clothe  themselves  with  leather,  and  the  wo- 
men, which  are  esteemed  for  their  long  locks,  cover  their 
heads  with  the  same. 

"  They  have  no  bread  or  any  kind  of  grain,  as  they  say, 
which  I  accounted  a  very  great  matter. 


38  STORIES  OF 

"Their  chief  food  is  flesh,  and  that  oftentimes  they  eat 
raw,  either  of  custom  or  for  lack  of  wood.  They  eat  the 
fat  as  they  take  it  out  of  the  ox,  and  drink  the  blood  hot,*  and 
do  not  die  withal,  though  the  ancient  writers  say  that  it  killeth, 
as  Empedocles  and  others  affirmed.  They  drink  it  also  cold 
dissolved  in  water. 

"  They  seethe  not  the  flesh  for  lack  of  pots,  but  roast  it, 
or  to  say  more  properly,  warm  it  at  a  fire  of  ox-dung ;  when 
they  chaw  their  meat  but  little,  and  raven  up  much,  and  hold- 
ing the  flesh  with  their  teeth,  they  cut  with  razors  of  stone 
which  seemeth  to  be  great  bestiality;  but  such  is  their  man- 
ner of  living  and  fashion. 

''They  go  together  in  companies,  and  move  from  one 
place  to  another,  as  the  wild  Moores  of  Barbary  called 
Alarbes  do,  following  the  seasons  and  the  pastures  after 
their  oxen. 

' '  These  oxen  are  of  the  bigness  and  color  of  our  bulls,  but 
their  bones  are  not  so  great.  They  have  a  great  bunch  upon 
their  fore-shoulder,  and  more  hair  on  their  fore  part  than  on 
their  hinder  part,  and  it  is  like  wool.  They  have  as  it  were 
an  horse-mane  upon  their  backbone,  and  much  hair  and  very 
long  from  their  knees  downward. 

"  They  have  great  tufts  of  hair  hanging  down  their  fore- 
heads, and  it  seemeth  they  have  beards  because  of  the  great 
store  of  hair  hanging  down  at  their  chins  and  throats. 


*  I  have  seen  the  Cheyennes  eat  the  hot  and  quivering  liver  and  fat  torn  from 
a  freshly  killed  antelope  when  on  a  hunting  party. — H.  I. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  39 

11  The  males  have  very  long  tails,  and  a  great  knob  or 
flock  at  the  end,  so  that  in  some  respects  they  resemble  the 
lion,  and  in  some  other  the  camel. 

"They  push  with  their  horns,  they  run,  they  overtake 
and  kill  an  horse  when  they  are  in  their  rage  and  anger. 

"Finally  it  is  a  foul  and  fierce  beast  of  countenance  and 
form  of  body. 

"  The  horses  fled  from  them,  either  because  of  their  de- 
formed shape,  or  else  because  they  had  never  before  seen 
them. 

' '  Their  masters  have  no  other  riches  nor  substance  ;  of 
them  they  eat,  they  drink,  they  apparel,  they  shoe  themselves, 
and  of  their  hides  they  make  many  things,  as  houses,  shoes, 
and  apparel  and  ropes ;  of  their  bones  they  make  bodkins,  of 
their  sinews  and  hair,  thread;  of  their  horns,  mawes  and 
bladders,  vessels ;  of  their  dung,  fire,  and  of  their  calves 
skins,  budgets,  wherein  they  draw  and  keep  water.  To  be 
short,  they  make  as  many  things  of  them  as  they  have  need 
of,  or  as  many  as  suffice  them  in  the  use  of  this  life. 

"There  are  also  in  this  country  other  beastes  as  big  as 
horses,  which  because  they  have  horns  and  fine  wooll  they  are 
called  sheep ;  and  they  say  that  every  home  of  them  weigheth 
fifty  pounds  weight.* 

"There  are  also  great  many  dogs  which  will  fight  with  a 
bull,  and  will  carry  fifty  pounds  weight  in  sacks  when  they 


*This  "  beaste  "  is  evidently  the  "  Big  Horn"  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  but 
the  historian  looked  upon  the  animal  with  exaggerated  optics. — H.  I. 


40  STORIES  OF  THE 

go  hunting,  or  when  they  remove  from  place  to  place  with 
their  flocks  and  herds." 

We  will  now  follow  the  fortunes  of  the  main  army  for  a 
short  time,  which,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  sent  back  to 
Tiguex  under  Don  Tristan  d' Arellano,  by  the  order  of  Coro- 
nado,  on  account  of  the  scarcity  of  provisions. 

The  army  was  guided  on  its  retreat  to  Tiguex  by  some 
natives  who  called  themselves  Teyans,  and  who  promised  to 
take  them  by  a  less  circuitous  route  than  the  one  they  came. 
The  historian  thus  relates  the  manner  in  which  these  Teyans 
guided  the  column  :  "Every  morning  they  watched  to  note 
where  the  sun  rose,  and  directed  their  way  by  shooting  an  ar- 
row in  advance,  and  then  before  reaching  this  arrow  they  dis- 
charged another ;  in  this  way  they  marked  the  whole  of  the 
route  to  the  spot  where  water  was  to  be  found,  and  where  they 
encamped. 

"The  army  consumed  only  twenty-five  days  on  their 
journey,  and  even  then  much  time  was  lost.  The  first  time 
it  had  taken  thirty-seven  days." 

"On  the  road  they  passed  a  great  number  of  salt  marshes 
where  there  was  a  considerable  quantity  of  salt.  Pieces 
longer  than  tables  and  four  or  five  inches  thick  were  seen 
floating  on  the  surface.  On  the  plains  they  found  an  im- 
mense number  of  small  animals  resembling  squirrels,  and 
numerous  holes  burrowed  by  them  in  the  earth." 

Arellano  arrived  at  Tiguex  in  July,  1541,  and  sent  out 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  41 

another  expedition  under  Captain  Francisco  de  Barrio-Nuevo 
to  ascend  the  river  (Rio  Grande). 

On  their  march  they  found  a  large  village  which  the  in- 
habitants called  Braba,  but  which  the  Spaniards  re-christened 
Valladolid.  "It  was  built  on  the  two  banks  of  the  river  which 
was  crossed  by  bridges  built  with  nicely  squared  timber." 

Still  another  expedition  was  sent  by  Arellano  south  from 
Tiguex,  for  about  three  hundred  miles,  where  they  found  four 
.more  villages,  and  "  reached  a  place  where  the  river  plunged 
beneath  the  ground;  but,  inasmuch  as  their  orders  confined 
them  to  a  distance  of  eighty  leagues,  they  did  not  push  on  to 
the  place  where,  according  to  the  Indians'  accounts,  this 
stream  escapes  again  from  the  earth  with  considerable  aug- 
mented volume." 

Meanwhile,  Don  Tristan  d'Arellano  became  alarmed  for 
the  safety  of  Coronado  who  should  have  returned  by  this 
time  according  to  his  express  declarations,  so  the  Don  set  out 
in  search  of  him  in  person,  taking  with  him  forty  of  his  cav- 
aliers. When  he  reached  Cicuye,  the  Indians  rushed  out 
and  attacked  him,  in  which  skirmish  he  lost  some  men,  and 
was  delayed  a  week.  Just  as  he  was  ready  to  move  forward 
again,  some  of  the  natives,  who  had  just  returned  from  a 
hunting  expedition,  told  him  that  Coronado  was  coming, 
and  he  remained  in  camp,  holding  the  Indians  at  bay  until 
the  general  arrived,  after  which  they  all  went  back  to  Tiguex. 

When  Coronado  reached  Tiguex,  he  put  the  whole  com- 


42  STORIES  OF  THE 

mand — which  was  now  together  once  more — into  winter 
quarters. 

' '  When  winter  was  over  Coronado  ordered  the  prepara- 
tion to  be  made  for  the  march  to  Quivira.  Every  one  then 
began  to  make  his  arrangements,  nevertheless,  as  it  often 
happens  in  the  Indies,  things  did  not  turn  out  as  people  in- 
tended, but  as  God  pleased.  One  day  of  festival  the  general 
went  forth  on  horse-back,  as  was  his  custom,  to  run  at  the 
ring  with  Don  Pedro  Maldonado.  He  was  mounted  on  an 
excellent  horse,  but  his  valets  having  changed  the  girth  of  his 
saddle,  and  having  taken  a  rotten  one,  it  broke  in  mid-course, 
and  the  rider  unfortunately  fell  near  Don  Pedro,  whose  horse 
was  in  full  career,  and  in  springing  over  his  body,  kicked  him 
in  the  head,  thus  inflicting  an  injury  which  kept  him  a  long 
time  in  bed  and  placed  him  within  two  fingers  of  death. 

"  The  result  of  this  was  that,  being  of  a  superstitious 
nature,  and  having  been  foretold  by  a  certain  mathematician 
of  Salamanca,  who  was  his  friend,  that  he  should  one  day 
find  himself  the  omnipotent  lord  of  a  distant  country,  but 
that  he  should  have  a  fall  that  would  cause  his  death,  he  was 
very  anxious  to  hasten  home  and  die  near  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren." 

This  so  worked  upon  Coronada,  says  the  historian,  that 
he  feigned  to  be  more  ill  than  he  really  was,  and  he  thus 
worked  upon  the  army  as  to  induce  them  to  petition  him  to 
return  to  New  Spain.  They  began  openly  to  declare  that, 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  43 

inasmuch  as  there  had  been  no  rich  country  discovered,  it 
was  better  to  abandon  any  further  search. 

Coronado,  upon  the  development  of  this  spirit  among 
his  soldiers,  which  he  himself  had  mainly  brought  about, 
turned  his  line  of  march  to  Mexico,  passing  through  Cibola 
and  other  places  on  his  journey  out. 

Coronado  met  with  some  resistance,  and  had  many  of 
his  men  and  horses  killed  on  the  route. 

On  his  arrival  in  the  City  of  Mexico,  he  was  received 
with  ill-grace  by  the  Viceroy,  says  the  historian,  but,  never- 
theless, he  received  his  discharge,  yet  he  lost  his  reputation, 
and  soon  after  his  government  of  New  Galicia  also. 

Thus  ended  the  great  expedition  which  was  fruitless  in  its 
search  for  Quivira  or  for  gold. 

Now,  let  us  determine,  if  possible,  the  route  of  Coronado, 
and  what  points  on  the  Great  Plains  we  can,  with  some  degree 
of  reason,  declare  he  visited. 

Civola,  or  Cibola  is  the  name  by  which  the  Mexicans 
designate  the  buffalo  or  bison. 

It  is  defined  in  Newman's  Dictionary  Cibola  or  Civola,  a 
quadruped  called  the  Mexican  bull.  It  seems  to  have  had 
that  name  in  Mexico  before  the  conquest  of  Cortez,  and  that  a 
skeleton  of  one  was  among  Montezuma's  collection  of  curi- 
osities. But  there  were  none  within  eight  hundred  miles  of 
the  boundary  of  the  Mexican  civilization. 

At  all  events  Cibola  or  Civola  meant  the  buffalo  country, 
and  it  is  quite  possible  that  the  place  now  known  as  Quivira, 


44  STORIES  OF  THE 

was  the  true  Quivira  of  the  Indians  at  the  time  of  Coronado's 
march.  But  whether  deceived  by  the  treacherous  Indian 
guide — whom  they  strangled,  as  related — or  having  misunder- 
stood what  the  Indian  meant,  the  Spaniards  gave  the  name 
of  Quivira  to  an  imaginary  country  situated  far  north  and 
reported  abounding  in  gold,  and  which  Coronado  visited. 

Starting  with  the  march  from  Tiguex,  the  first  important 
place  was  Cicuye. 

The  historian  says :  ' '  After  a  journey  of  five  days  from 
Tiguex,  Alvarado  arrived  at  Cicuye  a  very  well  fortified  vil- 
lage, the  houses  of  which  are  four  stories  high"  *  *  * 
Cicuye  is  built  in  a  narrow  valley  in  the  midst  of  mountains 
covered  with  pines.  It  is  traversed  by  a  small  stream,  in 
which  we  caught  some  excellent  trout." 

Mr.  E.  S.  Squier,  Mr.  Kern,  and  Col.  Simpson  have 
determined  the  ruins  of  Pecos  on  the  Rio  Pecos  to  be  the 
Cicuye  of  Coronado.*  They  are  "  situated  in  a  narrow  val- 
ley in  the  midst  of  pines,  and.  the  site  is  traversed  by  a  small 
silvery  stream  in  which  can  be  found  some  excellent  trout," 
says  the  historian. 

I  well  remember  now  nearly  fifteen  years  ago,  I  gazed 
with  strange  feelings  the  first  time  upon  the  ruins  of  Pecos.  It 
was  early  morning  in  October,  and  the  wind  blew  delicious 


*The  ruins  on  the  Rio  Pecos  have  been  visited  by  the  writer  a  dozen  times  or 
more,  and  each  time  the  proof  accumulates  that  here  was  located  the  Cicuye  of 
Coronado,  and  not  at  Santa  Fe,  as  some  here  declare.  The  records  of  the 
Catholic  church,  and  the  priests  themselves  indorse  it,  but  still  it  will  remain  an 
open  question  I  suppose. — H.  I. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  45 

and  crisp  from  the  tops  of  the  silvery  pines  piled  up  in 
the  rocky  canons  on  either  side.  I  remember  how  my 
thoughts  wandered  back  in  the  shadowy  past,  when  the  dead 
and  forgotten  civilization  now  in  ashes  under  my  feet  was 
busy  with  the  music  of  life.  I  fancied  I  could  almost  see 
the  little  band  of  determined  Spaniards  on  their  strange 
march  over  the  rugged  hills,  and  as  I  pulled  off  pieces  of 
the  blue  fresco  from  the  walls  of  the  old  church  it  seemed 
as  fresh  as  if  painted  yesterday  instead  of  nearly  four  hun- 
dred years  ago,  while  the  town  itself  ante-dates  the  church  at 
least  a  thousand  years. 

The  rudely  carved  beams  here  and  there  sticking  out 
from  detached  portions  of  the  ruin  were  as  sound  as  if  cut 
that  morning  from  among  the  towering  pines  all  around  me. 
I  thought  too  of  Coronado  and  his  "excellent  trout"  as  I 
sat  down  to  breakfast  on  half  a  dozen — just  pulled  from  the 
water — in  the  old  adobe  ranch  of  Kosloskie,  the  generous 
Pole,  who  has  lived  on  that  classic  spot  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century.  If  any  who  have  ever  traveled  from  Fort  Union 
to  Santa  Fe  within  the  last  twenty  years  should  see  these 
lines,  they  will  recall  the  wild  scenery,  and  particularly  the 
magnificent  trout,  always  to  be  found  at  every  meal  in  the 
old  ranch  on  the  Pecos. 

I  have  not  deemed  it  advisable  to  enter  into  a  discussion 
of  the  exact  locality  of  all  the  places  visited  by  Coronado 
and  his  adventurous  little  army,  because  of  the  space  it 
would  require  to  do  the  subject  justice,  and  because  of  the 


46  STORIES  OF  THE 

more  ^important  fact  that  they  lie  beyond  the  geographical 
area  of  our  state,  and  are  not  germane  really  to  the  design  of 
this  sketch — the  march  of  Coronado  into  Kansas.  There- 
fore, however  interesting  it  may  be,  and  really  is,  to  the  stu- 
dent of  history,  the  story  of  the  march  will  be  limited  to 
Kansas,  and  the  territory  immediately  contiguous. 

Quivira,  "  the  last  place  visited  by  Coronado,"  says  the 
historian.  Where  was  Quivira?  has  been  a  fruitful  source  of 
discussion  among  geographers  for  the  past  half  century. 

"Coronado  appears  to  have  proceeded  as  far  north  as 
near  the  fortieth  degree  of  latitude,  in  search  of  Quivira," 
says  Mr.  Gallatin. 

Colonel  Simpson,  an  excellent  authority,  says  :  "Now  it 
is  something  singular,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  investi- 
gate, there  is  no  such  place  as  Quivira  laid  down  on  the  old 
maps  in  the  locality  where  modern  maps  show  it — namely  in 
latitude  thirty-four,  longitude  one  hundred  and  six;  but  there 
is  a  place  of  that  name  laid  down  on  the  maps  in  about  lati- 
tude forty,  as  far  as  Coronado  located  it.  I  am,  therefore, 
inclined  to  believe  that  at  the  time  of  Coronado' s  expedition 
the  former  Quivira  did  not  exist.  At  all  events,  it  is  scarcely 
credible  that  such  a  remarkable  city  as  Quivira  was  repre- 
sented to  be,  so  full  of  gold,  etc.,  situated  as  it  was,  only 
about  fifty  miles  from  Tiguex,  the  headquarters  of  Corona- 
do's  army,  and  which  might  have  been  reached  in  two  days, 
could  have  been  kept  from  the  knowledge  and  observation 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  47 

of  the  army  for  about  a  year  and  a  half,  during  all  the  time 
that  a  portion  of  it  was  stationed  at  that  place." 

Gregg  in  commenting  on  the  antiquity  of  the  Quivira 
as  laid  down  in  the  modern  maps — latitude  thirty-four — 
says :  "By  some  persons  these  ruins  have  been  supposed  to 
be  the  remains  of  an  ancient  Pueblo  or  the  Aboriginal  City. 
That  is  not  probable  however,  for  the  relics  of  aboriginal 
temples  might  possibly  be  mistaken  for  these  Catholic 
churches,  yet  is  it  not  perceived  that  the  Spanish  Coat  of  Arms 
would  be  found  sculptured  and  painted  on  their  facades,  as 
is  the  case  in  more  than  one  instance  ?" 

Coronado  says  :  ' '  The  province  of  Quivira  is  nine  hun- 
dred and  fifty  leagues  *  *  from  Mexico.  The  place  I  have 
reached  is  the  fortieth  degree  of  latitude.  The  earth  is  the 
best  possible  for  all  kinds  of  productions  of  Spain,  for  while 
it  is  very  strong  and  black,  it  is  well  watered  by  brooks, 
springs  and  rivers.  I  found  prunes  like  those  of  Spain, 
some  of  which  were  black,  also  some  excellent  grapes  and 
mulberries.  Following  the  orders  of  your  majesty  I  have 
observed  the  best  possible  treatment  toward  the  natives  of 
this  province,  and  of  all  others  that  I  have  traversed. 

"  They  have  nothing  to  complain  of  me  or  my  people. 
I  sojourned  twenty-five  days,  in  the  province  of  Quivira,  as 
much  as  to  thorougly  explore  the  country  as  to  see  if  I  could 
not  find  some  further  occasion  to  serve  your  majesty,  for  the 
guides  whom  I  have  brought  with  me  have  spoken  of  prov- 
inces still  further  on.  That  which  I  have  been  able  to  learn 


48  STORIES  OF  THE 

is,  that  in  all  this  country  one  can  find  neither  gold  nor  any 
other  metal.  They  spoke  to  me  of  small  villages,  whose 
inhabitants  for  the  most  part  did  not  cultivate  the  soil.  They 
have  huts  of  hides  and  of  willows,  and  change  their  places 
of  abode  with  the  vaches  (buffaloes).  The  tale  they  told  me 
then  (that  Quivira  was  a  city  abounding  in  gold)  was  false. 
In  inducing  me  to  part  with  all  my  army  to  come  to  this 
country,  the  Indians  thought  that  the  country  being  desert  and 
without  water,  they  would  conduct  us  where  our  horses  and 
ourselves  would  die  of  hunger ;  that  is  what  the  guides  have 
confessed.  They  told  me  that  they  had  acted  by  the  advice 
of  the  natives  of  these  countries." 

Jaramillo  who  was  one  of  the  few  selected  by  Coronado 
to  accompany  him  on  his  long  march  to  Quivira  says  : 

11  This  country  has  a  superb  appearance,  and  such  that  I 
have  not  seen  better  in  all  Spain,  neither  in  Italy,  nor  France, 
nor  in  any  other  country  where  I  have  been  in  the  service  of 
your  majesty.  It  is  not  a  country  of  mountains ;  there  are 
only  some  hills,  some  plains,  and  some  streams  of  very  fine 
water.  It  satisfies  me  completely.  I  presume  that  it  is  very 
fertile  and  favorable  for  the  cultivation  of  all  kinds  of  fruits.'' 

Castenado  says  :     "  It  is  in  this  country  that  the  Espiritu 
Sancto,*  which  Don  Ferdinand  de  Soto  discovered  in  Florida 
takes  its  source." 

"The  course  of  this  river  is  so  long,  and  it  receives  so 
marif  affluents,  that  it  is  of  prodigious  length  to  where  it  de- 


*  The   Mississippi. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  49 

bouches  into  the  sea,  and  its  fresh  waters  extend  far  out  after 
you  have  lost  sight  of  the  land." 

Coronado  writes  of  another  large  river  with  a  smaller  one 
flowing  into  it.  He  called  these  the  Saint  Peter  and  Saint 
Paul. 

I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  these  two  rivers  were  the 
Arkansas,  and  the  Little  Arkansas. 

He  also  speaks  of  viewing  a  large  river  called  the  "  Teu- 
carea." 

This  was  the  Missouri,  and  he  gazed  upon  it  in  all  prob- 
ability from  the  spot  on  which  Atchison  now  stands — but  of 
this  further  on. 

Taking  into  consideration  the  fact  that  New  Mexico  is 
mountainous,  and  that  Coronado  could  only  have  met  with 
such  a  region  as  he  discovers — its  richness  and  blackness  of 
soil,  the  various  fruits  which  he  says  grew  spontaneously — on 
the  Great  Plains,  there  can  no  longer  be  any  doubt  of  the 
route  of  his  march-. 

How  familiar  it  sounds — "Mighty  plains  and  sandy 
heaths  so  smooth  and  wearisome  " — a  perfect  description  of 
the  mighty  stretch  of  country  from  the  foot  of  the  mountains 
eastward. 

His  route  was  beyond  doubt  in  a  northeasterly  direction 
from.  Cicuye  (Pecos),  and  after  reaching  the  vicinity  of  the 
thirty-seventh  parallel,  turned  nearly  due  east,  and  marched 
constantly  south  of  the  Arkansas  until  he  arrived  at  the  junc- 
tion of  the  Arkansas  and  the  Little  Arkansas — where  Wichita 
6 


50  STORIES  OF  THE 

now  stands.  Taking  into  consideration  the  probable  error  of 
his  instruments,  he  certainly  crossed  between  Hutchinson  and 
Wichita. 

He  speaks  of  the  two  rivers  which  he  called  Saint  Paul 
and  Saint  Peter,  and  could  not  have  known  of  the  existence 
of  the  Little  Arkansas  if  he  had  crossed  below  it. 

Take  a  map  and  fold  it,  so  that  a  line  is  drawn  from  the 
thirty-seventh  parallel  of  latitude  (where  it  intersects  the  one 
hundred  and  third  meridian  of  longitude*)  and  the  plicature 
will  pass  directly  through  the  extensive  salt  plains  of  the  Cim- 
arron,  and  cut  the  Arkansas  at  Wichita ;  this  was  undoubt- 
edly the  line  of  Coronado's  march,  and  the  mouth  of  the 
Little  Arkansas  was  the  point  of  separation  from  the  main 
army,  for  it  will  be  remembered  that  about  thirty-seven  days 
eastward  from  Tiguex,  the  provisions  failing,  the  major  por- 
tion of  the  command  were  obliged  to  retreat  toward  the 
latter  place,  while  Coronado  with  a  select  number — only  thirty- 
six  or  forty  in  all — of  his  cavaliers,  continued  their  journey 
toward  the  north — still  in  search  of  the  mythical  Quivira — 
the  "  land  abounding  in  gold  and  other  precious  metals." 

Let  us  fancy  the  shadow  on  the  sun-dial  of  the  ages  moved 
backward  for  nearly  four  hundred  years,  and  ourselves  stand- 
ing on  the  bank  of  the  beautiful  "  Little  River"  where  it 
gurgles  and  splashes  over  the  rounded  pebbles,  as  it  pours 
out  its  contribution  of  sweet  water  to  that  "  silent  stream." 
whose  sand-reaches,  and  dark  eddies  constantly  pick  up  more 


*From   Greenwich. 


OLD  SANTA  FE    TRAIL.  51 

and  more  of  the  infiltrated  rain  drops  on  its  restless  way  to 
the  sea. 

Under  the  leafiest  of  the  grand  old  cottonwoods  which 
fringed  its  grassy  border — for  there  were  gnarled  and  tempest 
riven  old  cottonwoods  in  those  days  of  the  shadowy  past — re- 
clined on  the  velvety  sod,  with  a  score  or  more  of  Spain's 
proudest  nobles  around  him,  Coronado — the  man  of  visions ; 
the  pursuer  of  a  phantom ;  the  dreamer — building  his  hopes 
out  of  such  stuff  as  nightmares  are  created. 

His  thoughts,  perhaps,  wandered  back  to  the  splendor  of 
that  court  which  gave  new  worlds  to  men  like  him,  and  as 
the  soft  spring  breeze  from  the  south  toyed  with  his  dark 
curls,  ambition  was  still  at  work  beneath,  leading  him  on,  till 
it  should  overleap  itself  and  crush  him  with  the  remorseless- 
ness  of  a  demon. 

Listlessly,  with  the  mutterings  of  mutiny  only  half  choked 
down,  in  little  groups  all  around  him  on  the  fresh  sod,  sat  the 
rank  and  file  of  his  adventurous  band. 

The  blue  and  white  anemones  in  the  beauty  of  their  un- 
folding, reflected  the  gorgeous  tint  above  them,  but  had  no 
charms  for  the  half-starved  and  awe-stricken  soldiers  who  had 
been  deceived  by  the  treacherous  guides,  and  lured  into  the 
wilderness  that  there  perhaps  they  might  find  their  death. 

With  fear  and  trembling  they  gazed  upon  the  magnifi- 
cent picture  before  them,  but  its  gorgeous  colors  were  black 
to  them,  and  like  "  Dead  Sea  fruit,"  all  they  touched  was 
only  ashes  to  their  mental  lips. 


52  STORIES  OF  THE 

Coronado  held  a  council  with  his  nobles,  and  it  was 
deemed  wise  that  most  of  them  should  go  back,  as  bootless 
of  results  as  when  they  started. 

With  heavy  heart  he  listened  to  the  counsels  of  his  cava- 
liers, and  reluctantly  issued  the  order  which,  in  a  measure  at 
least,  dashed  the  cup  of  his  ambition  to  the  ground  and  shat- 
tered it  into  a  thousand  fragments. 

The  next  morning  after  the  deliberations  under  the  cot- 
tonwood,  his  army  was  drawn  up  in  line,  and  he  made  them 
a  strong  appeal  to  remain  faithful  to  the  awful  oath  they  had 
taken  at  Compostella,  and  bade  them  farewell;  then,  as  all 
but  his  few  picked  friends,  who  had  chosen  to  follow  the  for- 
tunes of  their  commander  still  further  into  the  wilderness, 
slowly  wound  their  way  through  the  fringe  of  timber  west- 
ward, he  mounted  his  black  charger,  and  with  an  imperious 
wave  of  his  hand  to  the  north,  started  in  that  direction,  still 
seeking  the  Alnaschar  of  his  dreams. 

Returning  to  the  outward  march  of  the  command  from 
Tiguex,  and  before  they  reached  the  point  of  separation — as 
I  believe  the  mouth  of  the  Little  Arkansas,  as  stated — it  will 
be  remembered  the  historian  says  :  "On  the  road  they  passed 
a  great  number  of  salt  marshes,  where  there  was  a  considera- 
ble quantity  of  salt." 

These  salt  ponds  or  marshes  are  only  to  be  found  in  the 
region  of  country  between  the  Arkansas  and  the  Canadian, 
through  which  the  plicatures  in  our  folded  map  pass.  I  do  not 
mean  that  the  route  is  directly  east  from  the  intersection  of 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  53 

the  thirty-seventh  parallel  with  the  one  hundred  and  third 
meridian,  but  that  the  trail  of  Coronado  has  an  eastern  trend 
from  that  point,  and  passing  through  the  salt  marshes  of  the 
Cimarron,  terminates  at  Wichita,  or  he  could  not  have  seen 
the  two  rivers  as  the  historian  relates  he  did,  at  any  other 
point.  If  he  passed  below — to  the  east  of  Wichita — he  would 
have  missed  the  Little  Arkansas  completely,  and  if  he  cross- 
ed the  Arkansas  proper,  west  of  the  junction  of  the  two  rivers, 
he  c^uld  only  have  crossed  the  Little  Arkansas  where  it  is  an 
inconsiderable  stream,  not  worthy  the  dignity  of  the  name  of 
St.  Paul. 

Coronado  crossed  the  Kaw,  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  a 
short  distance  east  of  the  ninety-seventh  meridian  of  longi- 
tude, or  near  where  Abilene  is  now  located. 

From  thence  he  went  to  the  high  bluffs  overlooking  the 
city  of  Atchison,  and  gazed  upon  the  "great  river"  "Teuca- 
rea" — the  Missouri. 

The  most  exalted  spot  overlooking  the  river  at  this  point 
is  where  the  residence  of  our  distinguished  Senator,  Hon.  J. 
J.  Ingalls  stands,  and  it  is  not  improbable  the  beautiful  vista 
which  presents  itself  from  the  windows  of  that  modest,  but 
cultivated  home,  greeted  Coronado's  eyes,  nearly  four  hun- 
dred years  ago. 

There  upon  the  rugged  cliffs  above  Atchison,  the  dream 
of  Coronado  came  to  an  end,  and  bitter  must  have  been  the 
disappointment,  and  terrible  the  wreck  of  his  ambition,  as  he 
gazed  upon  the  muddy  flood  at  his  feet. 


54  STORIES  OF  THE 

The  province  of  Quivira— the  mythical  Quivira,  so  far 
as  it  was  a  land  "abounding  in  gold  and  other  precious  met- 
als," extended  from  the  thirty-ninth  to  the  forty-first  degree 
of  latitude  north  and  south,  and  from  the  ninety-fifth  to  the 
ninety-seventh  degree  of  longitude,  east  and  west.  This  was 
about  its  geographical  area,  according  to  the  old  maps,  but 
Coronado  did  not  go  beyond  where  Atchison  now  stands,  or 
about  half  way  between  its  northern  and  southern  limit. 

There,  as  he  gazed  upon  the  turbulent  Missouri — the 
Teucarea  of  the  Indians — he  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  pro- 
ceed further  toward  the  north. 

The  interminable  woods  stretching  out  before  him  had 
their  legends  of  horror,  and  his  naturally  superstitious  mind, 
already  surfeited  with  terrible  experiences,  and  confidence 
in  his  guides  completely  lost,  there  was  nothing  left  for  him 
to  do  but  to  return  to  Mexico — baffled,  defeated  and  crushed 
with  disappointments. 

It  is  difficult  to  trace  with  accuracy  the  whole  of  the  re- 
turn march  of  Coronado,  in  consequence  of  the  obscurity  of 
the  narrative  and  appellations  of  localities,  which  if  they  ever 
had  a  veritable  existence,  have  been  lost  in  tradition  during 
the  long  interval  of  time  since  the  date  of  that  memorable  ex- 
pedition. 

Whether  he  returned  to  the  "point  of  separation" — the 
mouth  of  the  Little  Arkansas— or  followed  the  tortuous  line 
of  the  Kaw,  and  thence  westward  through  the  bluffs  of  the 
Smoky-Hill  to  some  locality  where  he  suddenly  turned  to  the 


LD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  55 

south,  (which  theory  I  adopt)  must  apparently  remain  ajnys- 
tery,  unless  in  time  to  come,  some  now  lost,  and  musty  old 
record,  shall  be  discovered  that  will  offer  a  solution  to  the 
problem. 

We  can,  therefore,  only  speculate,  and  base  our  conclu- 
sions upon  the  meager  facts  attainable,  and  depend  almost 
entirely  upon  presumptive  evidence  to  make  out  a  route, 
which  at  best,  is  only  mere  guess  work,  until  we  find  him 
again  south  of  the  Arkansas,  and  near  the  mountains. 

My  reason  for  thus  defining  the  probable  return  march  of 
Coronado,  are  based  upon  the  fact,  that  on  Big  Creek  in  El- 
lis county,  there  is  a  huge  mass  of  detached  rock,  on  which 
as  late  as  1869,  could  be  discovered  a  series  of  rude  carvings, 
among  which  was  the  Spanish  Coat  of  Arms,  the  Spanish 
flag  and  a  date,  which  though  almost  illegible,  the  figures 
fifteen — for  the  century — could  be  still  traced,  but  the  year 
had  become  obliterated.  The  names  cut  under  the  flag  were 
illegible  beyond  hope  of  deciphering,  as  was  all  the  other 
chiseling  evidently  connected  with  the  whole  legend. 

I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  Coronado  reached  his  max- 
imum northern  point  at  about  where  Atchison  now  stands, 
and  that  from  thence  he  followed  the  Missouri  south,  until  he 
reached  the  mouth  of  the  Kaw,  where  he  turned  abruptly 
and  marched  along  its  northern  bank,  until  he  came  to  the 
Solomon  or  North  Fork  of  the  Smoky-Hill. 

He  then  crossed  that  stream  and  the  Saline,  continuing 
along  the  north  bank  of  the  Smoky  Hill  until  Big  Creek  was 


56  STORIES  OF  THE 

reached,  from  whence  he  turned  abruptly  south  and  crossed 
the  Arkansas  between  Kinsley  and  where  the  new  town  of 
Cimarron,  in  Ford  county,  is  now  located. 

I  am  not  aware  whether  the  rock  on  Big  Creek  is  in  ex- 
istence to-day  or  not,  or  if  it  is,  whether  the  rude  carving 
referred  to  is  longer  legible.  Neither  can  it  be  determined 
with  any  degree  of  certainty,  whether  the  names  and  date 
which  could  be  seen  as  late  as  I  have  stated,  were  those  of 
Coronado' s  little  band.  We  have  to  accept  it  as  mere  pre- 
sumptive evidence,  coupled  with  the  idea  that  Coronado 
would  hardly  choose  to  return  by  the  same  route  he  had  fol- 
lowed on  his  outward  march. 

If  he  actually  marched  over  the  route  I  have  described, 
and  believe  probable,  I  deduce  the  idea,  that  on  his  arrival  at 
Big  Creek  he  turned  abruptly  toward  the  south  or  rather  south- 
west, from  the  fact  that  where  Ellsworth  in  Ellsworth  county 
is  located,  the  Smoky  Hill  reaches  its  most  southern  latitude 
— from  that  point  it  gradually  trends  to  the  northwest,  anj 
that  Coronado  observing  this  (by  the  use  of  his  instruments) 
made  a  tangent  with  it  of  his  line  of  march,  because  he  saw 
it  (the  trend  of  the  river)  was  leading  him  away  from  the  true 
course  he  desired  to  take. 

It  was  perfectly  natural  too,  that  at  the  point  of  leaving 
his  course  he  should  leave  some  evidence  of  the  fact,  and 
more  probable  that  this  evidence  should  be  his  name,  the 
names  of  the  most  prominent  of  his  followers,  and  the  flag 
under  which  he  served,  cut  on  the  enduring  rock. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  57 

That  this  was  the  habit  of  Coronado  and  all  the  early 
Spanish  explorers,  we  have  only  to  refer  to  their  routes 
through  Mexico,  Arizona  and  New  Mexico,  where  when- 
ever a  surface  of  wall  presented  itself,  there,  we  find  a  record 
of  the  march  and  its  date  cut  in  hard  rock. 

Coronado  evidently  moved  in  a  south-westerly  direction 
from  his  place  of  departure  on  the  Smoky  Hill,  for  we  know 
that  he  crossed  his  outward  trail  south  of  the  Arkansas,  and 
his  objective  point  (Tiguex)  lying  in  the  prolongation  of  that 
line,  he  could  have  taken  no  other  course. 

His  route  passed  near  the  Antelope  hills  (in  Texas)  a  lit- 
tle west  of  which  he  crossed  the  Canadian,  and  thence  south- 
westerly to  the  Pecos,  which  he  crossed,  and  marched  north- 
westerly to  Cicuye  (now  the  ruins  of  Pecos)  heretofore  de- 
scribed where  we  will  leave  him. 

Thus  it  appears  Coronado  traversed  the  State  of  Kansas, 
diagonally,  twice — in  going  out,  and  returning  from  Quivira, 
and  that  he  followed  for  a  long  distance,  the  course  of  what 
in  after  years  was  known  as  the  "  Santa  Fe  trail,"  and  was 
therefore  the  first  white  man  who  traveled  that  great  and  his- 
toric highway. 

He  and  his  little  band  of  cavaliers  have  made  many 
localities  classic  ground,  yet  strange  as  it  may  seem,  none 
have  seen  fit  to  do  his  memory  honor. 

An  attempt  was  made  some  years  since  by  Geo.  W. 
Martin,  I  believe,  to  change  the  name  of  Davis  county  to 
that  of  Coronado. 


58  STORIES  OF  THE 

The  explorations  of  Coronado  extended  over  two  years, 
and  must  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  grandest  expeditions  of 
modern  times. 

Although  fruitless  in  results  so  far  as  beneficial  discover- 
ies were  concerned,  it  convinces  us  of  the  indomitable  and 
unconquerable  spirit  of  conquest  by  which  the  Spaniards 
were  imbued,  and  places  them  at  that  period  of  the  world  at 
the  head  of  all  nations  in  intelligence  and  power. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  that 
other  expedition  up  the  sea-coast,  which  was  part  in  reality 
of  Coronado's,  but,  we  have  refrained  for  all  but  a  mere  al- 
lusion to  it,  because  it  is  not  within  the  province  of . what  was 
intended  in  this  sketch. 

In  conclusion,  I  shall  give  the  historian's  idea  of  the  ori- 
gin of  the  people  whom  they  met  on  their  route  through  New 
Mexico,  to  show  how  crude  the  opinion  extant  at  that  time 
was  of  the  geography  of  the  continent : 

"  These  nations,  which  are  so  entirely  different  from 
those  of  all  the  other  nations  we  have  found  up  to  the  present 
time,  must  have  come  from  the  region  west  of  the  Great  India, 
where  its  coasts,  touch  those  of  this  country  on  the  west. 

"  According  to  the  route  they  followed  they  must  have 
come  from  the  extremity  of  the  Eastern  India,  and  from  a 
very  unknown  region,  which,  according  to  the  information  of 
the  coast,  would  be  situated  far  in  the  interior  of  the  land  be- 
twixt China  and  Norway.  There  must,  in  fact,  be  an  im- 
mense distance  from  one  sea  to  the  other,  according  to  the 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL. 


59 


form  of  the  coast  as  it  has  been  discovered  by  Captain  Villal- 
obos,  who  took  that  direction  in  seeking  for  China.  The 
same  occurs  when  we  follow  the  coast  of  Florida ;  it  always 
approaches  Norway  up  to  the  point  where  the  country  '  des 
baccalaos,'  or  codfish  is  obtained." 


60  STORIES  OF  THE 


THE  LEGEND  OF  TEPEYACAC. 

The  1 2th  of  December  is  remarkable  in  the  religious 
calendar  of  New  Mexico  as  the  anniversary  of  a  miraculous 
visit  of  the  Virgin  to  an  uneducated  and  simple  Indian,  who 
comes  down  to  us  on  the  pages  of  history  as  Juan  Diego — a 
hero  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  according  to  the  estimate 
placed  upon  him  by  the  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  who 
in  the  long  centuries  that  have  passed  have  worshiped  at  the 
shrine,  his  story  and  the  wonderful  confirmatory  proof  that 
accompanied  it,  he  left  them  as  a  precious  legacy. 

That  Juan  Diego  was  the  recipient  of  a  veritable  visit 
from  the  Virgin,  is  as  earnestly  and  honestly  believed  in  by 
the  Catholic  world  of  both  Old  and  New  Mexico  as  the  most 
simple  and  plausible  tenet  of  their  church,  and  it  would  be  as 
presumptuous  to  discredit  it  as  to  doubt  the  existence  of  the 
Virgin  herself. 

The  legend  boasts  of  considerable  antiquity ;  dating  back 
to  a  certain  Saturday,  December  pth,  1531,  only  a  short 
period  after  the  City  of  Mexico  had  been  selected  as  the  resi- 
dence of  that  first  Bishop  (Senior  Don  Francisco  de'Zumar- 
raga)  who  emulating  Alexander,  destroyed  in  the  same  man- 
ner, the  invaluable  archives  of  the  country  he  presided  over 
with  the  title  of  "Protector  of  the  Indians"  in  addition  to 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  61 

that  of  his  apostolic  one.  Juan  Diego  was  well  deserving  the 
honors  conferred  upon  him  by  one  of  the  holy  family,  if  we 
are  to  accept  the  ingredients  of  character  accorded  to  him ;  for 
he  is  represented  as  ''recently  converted,  of  pure  and  un- 
blemished morals,  though  of  lowly  birth." 

It  was  early  morning,  and  the  scarped  side  of  Tepeya- 
cac  *  reflected  the  golden  sunlight  as  it  streamed  in  rich  floods 
across  the  dark  valley  still  hushed  in  the  gloomy  shadow  of 
Popocatapetl,  but  around  whose  icy  summit  played  a  most 
gorgeous  iridescence  as  the  rays  glinted  from  crag  to  pinnacle. 
Juan  Diego  deeply  impressed  with  the  importance  of  his  re- 
ligious obligations,  had  long  since  risen  from  his  humble  bed, 
and  was  well  on  his  way  to  attend  the  celebration  of  the 
mass  which  the  monks  of  his  district  directed  daily  at  that 
early  hour,  and  had  just  reached  the  summit  of  the  little 
path  that  ran  over  Tepeyacac  when  his  meditations  were  in- 
terrupted by  "  a  sweet,  sonorous  and  harmonious  music,  as 
of  little  birds."  The  soft  strains  and  rare  melody  he  could 
not  resist,  and  looking  about  him  to  divine  the  cause  of  the 
heavenly  concert,  ''he  saw  a^  white  and  shining  cloud  sur- 
rounded by  arainbow,  and  in  its  center  a  most  beautiful  lady." 
Almost  prostrated  at  the  enchanting  vision  before  him  he 


•  "Tepeyacac  is  a  small  mountain  whose  southern  side  is  an  inaccessable 
precipice,  which  looks  to  the  City  of  Mexico,  situated  on  the  south  of  it  at  the  dis- 
tance of  about  three  miles.  Its  ascent  by  whatever  part  undertaken,  except  that 
of  the  pathways  mad*  to  facilitate  the  access,  is  extremely  rough  and  stony.  Its 
whole  surface  is  covered  with  crowfeet,  buck  and  hawthorn,  which  are  common  to 
such  sterile  wastes.  The  Astec  name,  Tepeyacac,  signifies  the  abrupt  extremity 
or  termination  of  hills  ;  and  in  this  bluff  terminate  all  the  hills  to  the  north  of  the 
Capital.  Mayer,  Vol.  I. 

7 


62  STOXIES  OF  THE 

dared  not  gaze  upon  it  until  he  was  assured  by  a  soft  and 
beautiful  voice,  addressing  him  in  his  own  language  "  not  to 
be  afraid,"  that  she  who  was  conversing  with  him  was  "  the 
Virgin  Mary,  the  mother  of  God,"  whose  mass  he  was  on  his 
way  to  hear.  "She  commanded  him  to -go  to  the  Bishop 
and  tell  him  that  it  was  her  will  that  a  temple  should  be  built 
to  her  upon  that  spot,  in  which  she  would  show  herself  a  pious 
mother  toward  him,  his  nation,  devotees,  and  as  many  as 
should  solicit  her  support  and  protection  in  their  hour  of  need" 
Juan  .listened  earnestly  in  an  attitude  of  profound  devotion, 
and  crossing  himself  was  about  to  leave  the  sacred  spot  when 
the  lovely  apparition  motioned  him  to  stop  and  hear  all  she 
had  to  say;  continuing  the  lady  said:  "Be  sure,  my  son, 
for  whom  I  feel  a  delicate  and  tender  love,  that  I  will  repay 
all  you  do  for  me;  I  will  render  you  famous;  and  will  endow 
you  with  benefits  for  the  diligence  and  labor  you  display. 
Now,  my  servant,  in  whom  I  delight,  thou  hast  heard  my  de- 
sire, go  thou  in  peace." 

Juan  intoxicated  with  the  rapturous  vision  he  had  witness- 
ed, forgetting,  or  rather  delayed  beyond  the  hour  to  say  his  mat- 
ins at  the  little  church,  for  which  he  started  out  on  his  early 
journey,  immediately  wended  his  way  over  the  mountain  and 
down  into  the  valley  where  he  struck  the  broad  highway  lead- 
ing into  the  city,  nor  did  he  stop  again  until  he  reached  the 
palace  gate,  within  which  resided  the  venerable  and  illustrious 
archbishop,  and  with  whom  he  immediately  craved  an  inter- 
view. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  63 

After  a  few  moments  parleying  with  the  servants,  who 
were  loth  to  disturb  their  master  at  that  early  hour,  the  prelate 
who  was  in  his  study,  hearing  the  commotion  outside,  himself 
came  forth,  and  being  importuned  by  Juan,  who  was  invited 
by  the  archbishop  to  enter  the  palace,  when  Juan,  all  excite- 
ment, poured  forth  his  strange  story.  The  worthy  man  was 
both  incredulous  and  startled,  as  Juan  related  all  the  marvel- 
ous things  he  had  seen,  and  repeated  with  emphasis  the  mis- 
sion the  wonderful  apparition  had  delegated  to  him.  The 
bishop  attempted  to  reason  with  him  upon  the  possibility  of 
what  he  alleged  to  have  seen,  which  might  only  have  been  a 
creation  of  his  brain,  induced  by  the  holy  thoughts  that  filled 
his  mind,  while  on  his  way  to  his  morning  devotion,  but  upon 
Juan's  insisting  that  what  had  appeared  >was  as  tangible  as  the 
presence  of  the  holy  father  before  him,  the  latter  urged  him 
to  return  to  his  home,  and  he  would  consider  what  it  was 
best  for  one  to  do  who  had  been  so  favored  above  all  men, 
and  that  at  some  future  day,  after  meditation  and  prayer  upon 
the  subject,  he  would  farther  advise  him. 

Juan  submissive,  but  not  altogether  inclined  to  act  strictly 
according  to  the  injunctions  of  the  bishop,  and  with  the  im- 
pressions of  his  remarkable  adventure  of  a  few  hours  before 
not  by  any  means  effaced  from  his  memory,  instead  of  repair- 
ing to  his  own  home,  as  he  had  been  enjoined,. found  himself 
irresistibly  drawn  toward  the  little  mountain,  and  to  the  spot 
where  his  eyes  had  feasted  upon  the  lovely  picture.  He  was 
not  surprised  to  find  the  Most  Holy  Virgin  in  the  same  place 


64  STORIES  OF  THE 

where  he  had  first  seen  her,  and  apparently  waiting  his  com- 
ing. Kneeling  reverently  before  her,  and  in  most  submissive 
language,  he  told  her  of  his  visit  to  the  bishop,  and  all  that 
had  transpired  at  the  interview  with  that  righteous  man,  and 
urging  that  it  were  better  if  she  would  delegate  her  wishes  to 
some  not  so  lowly  and  humble  as  he,  feared  he  would  not  be 
credited  with  truthfulness,  "because  he  was  an  humble  man 
and  a  plebeian."  The  Virgin  regarding  him  with  the  greatest 
benignity,  and  smiling  upon  him  in  the  most  heavenly  man- 
ner, replied  :  "  To  me  neither  servants  nor  followers  whom 
to  send  are  wanting  if  I  should  wish,  since  I  have  multitudes 
at  my  command ;  but  it  is  agreeable  to  me  now  that  thou 
shouldst  perform  this  mission  and  make  the  solicitation. 
Through  your  intervention  I  wish  to  give  effect  to  my  will, 
and  desire  you  to  speak  again  with  the  bishop,  and  tell  him 
he  must  build  a  temple  in  honor  of  me  on  this  spot ;  and  that 
it  is  the  Most  Holy  Virgin  Mary,  Mother  of  the  true  God, 
who  sends  you." 

Juan  filled  with  the  best  and  purest  thoughts  his  deeply 
religious  nature  was  capable  of,  and  wonderfully  impressed 
with  the  favor  that  had  been  accorded  him,  though  realizing 
the  awful  majesty  of  the  Holy  presence  before  him,  tremb- 
lingly answered :  "  Do  not  be  offended,  my  Queen  and  Holy 
Lady,  at  what  I  have  said,  which  is  not  intended  to  excuse 
me  from  this  office,  I  hereby  pledge  myself  to  repeat  what  you 
have  instructed  me  to  say,  to  the  bishop,  and  I  promise,  that 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  65 

at  the  setting  of  the  sun  to  morrow  I  will  be  here  with  his 
reply." 

Juan  then  in  an  attitude  of  the  profoundest  humility  took 
leave  again  of  the  entrancing  vision,  and  returned  to  his  own 
home,  sad  and  sorrowful,  for  he  felt  that  the  bishop  would  not 
give  credence  to  his  story,  and  he  would  suffer  the  displeas- 
ure of  the  Holy  Mother  on  the  morrow. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  December  loth,  1531,  and 
our  devoted  Indian  attended  mass  at  an  early  hour  as  usual, 
at  the  conclusion  of  which,  realizing  what  terrible  judgment 
might  be  visited  upon  him,  should  he  neglect  in  the  slightest 
particular  his  promised  pledge  of  the  day  before,  he  immedi- 
ately set  himself  about  the  fulfillment  of  that  obligation. 

Hastening  then,  he  soon  reached  the  gate  of  the  bishop's 
palace,  where  as  before,  he  begged  he  might  be  admitted  to 
his  presence.  But  as  on  the  previous  occasion,  the  servants 
hesitated  to  give  the  poor  man  entrance,  and  it  was  only  after 
a  series  of  earnest  importunity  they  allowed  him  to  go  in. 

Throwing  himself  upon  the  floor  before  the  bishop,  and 
earnestly  imploring  that  dignitary  to  listen  to  him,  he  with  the 
deepest  emotion  related  his  second  experience  on  the  moun- 
tain. His  rude  eloquence  and  impressive  manner  touched 
the  heart  of  the  holy  prelate,  and  lifting  Juan  up  tenderly 
he  embraced  him  ;  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes  catechised  him 
carefully,  but  found  no  prevarication  or  deviation  from  a 
straightforward  and  apparently  true  tale.  He  encouraged 
Juan,  and  told  him,  that  although  he  believed  that  he,  Juan, 


66  STORIES  OF  THE 

had  really  seen  some  remarkable  vision,  still  it  was  not  sum", 
ciently  well  established  for  him  to  take  immediate  action  upon, 
he  therefore  advised  that  he  should  go  back  to  where  he  had 
seen  the  apparition,  and  if  the  lady  made  her  appearance 
again,  he  should  ask  for  a  sign,  through  which  it  might  be 
known  to  the  Church,  that  the  "  Mother  of  God"  had  really 
sent  him. 

Juan,  with  the  innate  consciousness  of  the  truth  of  his 
statement  to  the  bishop,  thanked  him,  and  told  him  he  would 
do  all  that  he  desired  of  him,  and  with  a  comparatively  light 
heart  he  left  the  palace.  The  Bishop  observing  that  Juan  had 
departed  from  his  presence  in  an  entirely  different  state  of 
mind  from  that  in  which  he  had  entered,  and  believing  that 
he  would  follow  out  his  instructions  explicitly  in  relation  to 
asking  of  the  party  with  whom  he  alleged  having  conversed 
on  the  mountain,  for  some  sign,  quietly  ordered  two  of 
his  confidential  servants  secretly  to  watch  Juan's  movements, 
and  find  out  without  being  discovered,  who  it  was  he  would 
speak  to  on  his  arrival  at  the  top  of  Tepeyacac.  These  spies 
kept  close  on  the  trail  of  the -Indian  until  he  reached  the  foot 
of  the  sacred  hill,  when  he  suddenly  disappeared,  and  all 
their  efforts  to  find  him  were  unavailing,  although  they  dili- 
gently searched  every  ravine  and  portion  of  the  mountain  in 
which  it  was  possible  for  a  man  to  secrete  himself.  Disgust- 
ed, and  weary  with  much  walking,  they  returned  to  the  pal- 
ace and  reported  to  the  bishop  that  Juan  was  an  imposter, 
and  that  no  credence  should  be  given  to  his  fabulous  stories. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  67 

Juan,  however,  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  he  had  been 
watched  and  to  the  unwelcome  report  that  had  been  made  to 
the  bishop,  reached  the  summit  of  the  mountain  in  good 
time  and  in  the  identical  spot  where  he  had  first  seen  her, 
stood  the  Blessed  Virgin,  in  all  the  glory  and  majesty  of  her 
divine  character  awaiting  his  arrival.  Juan  in  the  most  rev- 
erential manner  conveyed  to  the  glorious  apparition  his  inter- 
view with  the  bishop  and  the  demand  made  upon  him  for  a 
sign.  Congratulating  Juan  upon  his  faithfulness  and  obedi- 
ence to  her  commands  she  ordered  him  to  return  the  next 
day  and  his  desire  and  that  of  the  bishop  should  be  complied 
with.  Juan  in  the  most  thankful  manner  for  the  promised 
sign  which  should  establish  his  veracity  with  the  bishop, 
declared  his  intention  to  return  at  the  time  specified,  and 
upon  receiving  the  blessings  of  the  Virgin  departed  for  home 
much  elated  at  the  manner  in  which  events  were  shaping 
themselves. 

It  was  nearly  night  when  Juan  reached  his  simple  hut 
where  much  to  his  astonishment  and  grief  he  learned  that  his 
uncle,  Juan  Bernadino  upon  whom  he  looked  as  a  father  had 
been  stricken  with  the  dreaded  cacolixtli,  a  malignant  disease 
peculiar  to  the  region  at  certain  seasons.  Forgetful  of  all 
else  but  the  sufferings  of  his  relative  he  passed  the  whole  of 
the  rext  day  (the  nth,)  in  administering  such  remedies  as 
were  known  to  the  Indians,  and  in  careful  nursing,  but  with- 
out beneficial  results.  The  morning  of  the  i2th  dawned  but 
found  the  patient  no  better,  in  fact  feeling  that  his  end  was 


68  STORIES  OF  THE 

near  and  too  being  a  convert  to  the  new  religion,  he  implored 
Juan  to  hasten  for  a  priest  that  he  might  receive  the  holy 
sacrament  and  extreme  unction  before  he  died. 

While  it  was  yet  but  early  morning,  and  in  obedience  to 
his  uncle's  wishes  Juan  set  out  to  seek  a  confessor,  carefully 
avoiding  the  upper  path  across  the  mountain  where  he  had 
seen  the  blessed  vision,  in  fear  of  meeting  it  again  and  incur- 
ring the  displeasure  of  the  Virgin  for  his  remission  in  not 
acceding  to  her  command  of  the  day  before.  So  he  followed 
a  path  much  lower  down  which  ran  close  to  a  spring,  hoping 
thereby  he  might  not  be  intercepted  and  chided  for  his  short- 
comings. What  was  his  surprise  on  approaching  the  spring 
to  see  the  Virgin  in  all  her  heavenly  radiance  waiting  to  meet 
him.  The  sight  of  the  apparition  filled  Juan  with  fear  and 
trembling  as  he  thought  of  his  dereliction,  but  as  the  Virgin 
greeted  him  with  a  benignant  countenance  his  alarm  some- 
what subsided,  but  when  asked:  "  Whither  goest  thou  my 
son  ?  What  road  is  this  thou  has  taken  ?  "  he  became  ter- 
ribly confused  and  ashamed,  not  knowing  what  to  say.  Pres- 
ently, however,  he  cast  his  eyes  toward  the  Holy  Lady,  and 
observing  the  heavenly  smile  which  lighted  up  her  features 
he  took  courage  and  said:  "Do  not  be  offended  Beloved 
Virgin,  at  what  I  am  about  to  say  to  you ;  "  and  after 
inquiring  in  relation  to  her  health,  explained  the  cause  of  his 
absence  of  the  day  previous,  and  the  mission  upon  which  he 
was  now  bent,  and  hoped  she  would  permit  him  to  pass ; 
that  he  would  return  soon  and  carry  out  her  mandates.  His 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  69 

.story  was  listened  to  with  the  utmost  suavity  and  gentleness, 
at  the  end  of  which  the  Virgin  said  to  him  :  "Hear  my  son 
what  I  say.  Do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  disturbed  or  afflicted 
by  anything ;  neither  fear  infirmity,  affliction,  nor  grief.  Am 
not  I,  your  mother,  here  ?  Are  you  not  under  my  shield 
and  protection  ?  Do  you  need  more  ?  Give  yourself  neither 
trouble  nor  concern  on  account  of  the  illness  of  your  uncle, 
who  will  not  die  of  this  present  malady,  and,  morover,  rest 
satisfied  that  even  at  this  instant  he  is  perfectly  cured." 

Juan  knowing  now,  that  upon  this,  the  third  appearance 
of  the  beautiful  vision,  he  was  really  in  the  awful  presence  of 
one  of  the  Holy  Family,  and  that  it  was  not  a  phantasmagoria, 
the  effect  of  a  disturbed  brain  as  had  been  suggested  by  the 
bishop,  comforted  himself  with  the  thought,  and  abandoning 
all  solicitude  for  the  condition  of  his  relative,  asked  for  the 
promised  "sign."  The  Virgin  then  directed  him  to  "listen 
and  carefully  comply  with  her  commands."  She  then  told 
him  to  go  to  the  place  where  she  had  first  met  him,  and  "cut- 
ing  the  flowers  he  would  find  there,  to  fill  his  blanket  with 
them  and  return  to  her."  Juan,  in  a  spirit  of  perfect  faith, 
hastened  to  obey,  although  he  knew  that  nothing  but  thorns 
and  brambles  grew  on  the  alkali  ridge  where  he  was  directed 
to  find  flowers.  Juan  soon  reached  the  spot  where  his  eyes, 
days  previously,  had  first  feasted  on  the  beautiful  vision,  and 
to  his  intense  surprise,  discovered  a  * '  bed  of  various  budding 
flowers,  odorous  and  yet  wet, with  dew."  He  gazed  long  and 
fondly  on  the  exquisitely  formed  and  fragrant  floral  picture, 


70     .  STORIES  OF  THE 

and  then  suddenly  remembering  his  mission,  soon  filled  his 
blanket,  as  commanded,  and  carried  them  to  the  Virgin, 
whom  he  found  waiting  at  the  foot  of  a  palm  tree,  called  by 
the  natives  Cuafzahautl,  and  which  bears  beautiful  white  lily- 
shaped  flowers.  4uan  presented  her  with  the  contents  of  his 
blanket  in  the  T  )st  obsequious  manner,  and  knelt  at  her  feet 
in  the  attitude  • ;!  pr/yer.  The  Lady,  kindly  smiling  on  Juan, 
took  the  offering  iri  her  hands,  blessed  the  flowers  and  re-ar- 
ranging them  in  th-  blanket,  said  to  Juan  :  "This  is  the  sign 
I  wish  you  to  take  i/>  the  bishop,  in  order  that  he  may  build 
me  a  temple  on  this  spot,  and  I  command  you,  that  you  show 
no  one  what  you  ha\.:  until  you  arrive  in  the  presence  of  the 
bishop."  The  Virgin  then  blessed  Juan  who,  with  a  happy 
heart,  started  on  a  run  for  the  city  and  the  palace  of  the 
bishop,  for  he  knew  now  that  he  had  tangible  evidence  to 
show  that  high  functionary,  and  that  his  vision  was  realistic 
and  that  he  would  be  believed.  Juan  soon  reached  the  pal- 
ace gate  with  his  precious  burden,  and  in  an  excited  manner 
demanded  to  see  the  bishop  at  once,  but  the  gate-keeper, 
knowing  of  his  former  visits  and  their  bootlessness,  declined 
to  admit  him.  Juan,  however,  grew  so  impatient,  and  so 
enraged  the  man,  that  at  last,  after  attempting  to  divest  Juan 
of  his  precious  gift  of  flowers,  but  observing  that  they  were 
miraculously  interwoven  in  his  blanket,  himself  hastened  to 
the  bishop  to  inform  him  of  the  strange  phenomenon, 
closely  followed  by  Juan.  The  bishop,  being  informed  of 
the  remarkable  occurrence,  ordered  Juan  to  come  into  his 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  71 

presence  immediately.  The  Indian  then  unrolled  his  blanket 
before  the  eyes  of  the  astonished  prelate  to  exhibit  the  "  sign," 
when  lo!  "the  image  of  the  Most  Holy  Virgin  appeared 
painted  upon  the  garment."  As  this  most  wonderful  miracle 
greeted  the  bishop  and  his  attendants,  they  -all  fell  dowh  and 
worshiped  it  with  the  greatest  reverence.  Poor  Juan  was  as 
much  surprised  as  any  of  them,  he  had  no  idea  that  his 
"  sign"  consisted  of  anything  more  than  the  loved  flowers, 
and  these,  to  him,  were  sufficient  themselves,  growing  in 
winter  and  their  radiant  beauty,  to  satisfy  him  that  he  had 
really  been  given  a  sign.  The  bishop,  after  the  proper  ado- 
ration had  been  said  to_the  wonderful  picture,  rose  from  his 
knees  and  reverently  untied  the  knot  that  secured  the  blanket 
to  Juan's  neck,  and  taking  it  to  his  chapel,  hung  the  "  sacred 
cloth "  behind  the  high  altar,  and  again  ' '  gave  thanks  to 
God  for  so  striking  a  miracle." 

Juan  during  all  that  day  was  right  royally  entertained  by 
the  bishop,  and  the  next  day  was  ordered  to  show  the  exact 
place  on  the  mountain  where  he  had  first  seen  the  beautiful 
vision,  and  then  the  bishop  was  to  order  a  temple  to  be  erected 
to  the  memory  of  the  Most  Blessed  and  Holy  Virgin,  but  upon 
reaching  the  summit,  the  Indian  could  not  determine  upon 
the  exact  locality,  whereupon — as  the  legend  declares — a 
stream  gushed  forth  and  "indicated  it." 

After  this  event,  Juan  begged  permission  of  the  bishop 
and  the  multitude  of  dignitaries  that  had  accompanied  him  to 
the  hill,  to  go  and  see  his  uncle  whom  he  had  left  "nigh  unto 


72  STORIES  OF  THE 

death."  The  worthy  prelate  consented  and  sent  some  of  his 
retinue  with  Juan,  and  with  orders  if  they  found  Juan  Berna- 
dino,  his  uncle,  to  bring  him  back  with  them. 

As  the  crowd  neared  the  village  they  met  Bernadino 
perfectly  recovered,  and  coming  out  to  greet  them.  Juan 
then  related  his  experience  to  his  uncle,  who  declared  that 
"on  the  self-same  hour"  on  which  the  Most  Holy  Virgin  an- 
nounced his  recovery,  she  had  appeared  to  him,  and  not  on- 
ly cured  him,  but  also  had  directed  him  to  build  a  temple  to 
her  at  Tepeyacac,  where  her  image  should  be  called  "HOLY 
MARIA  DE  GUADALUPE." 

In  course  of  time,  the  celebrated  church  was  built  at  Te- 
peyacac, and  the  alleged  miraculous  picture  still  hangs  on  its 
wall  behind  the  great  altar,  as  beautiful  and  as  full  of  interest 
as  when  placed  there  nearly  three  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago. 

It  is  sacredly  guarded,  and  only  a  favored  few  are  per- 
mitted to  gaze  upon  its  "exquisite  sublimity."  This  honor 
was  accorded  to  Mr.  Seward  during  his  visit  to  Mexico  on  his 
remarkable  tour  of  the  world,  and  in  his  book  I  believe  he* 
refers  to  it. 

In  one  of  the  old  churches  at  Santa  Fe — the  church  of 
"Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe" — maybe  seen  a  copy  of  the  ex- 
quisite picture.  The  "Virgin"  is  represented — with  a  most 
decided  caste  of  Indian  features  and  complexion — standing 
upon  the  crescent  moon,  which  in  turn  is  supported  by  bodi- 
less cherubs ;  her  mantle  is  intensely  blue,  studded  with  stars 
and  falls  gracefully  from  her  forehead  to  her  feet. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  73 

In  every  house,  in  both  Old  and  New  Mexico,  whether 
of  the  most  abject  or  most  opulent,  an  image  of  "Our  Lady  of 
Guadalupe"  may  be  found,  and  her  services  are  frequently 
called  into  requisition  with  much  prayer  and  penance,  as  the 
tutelar  saint  of  the  country. 


74  STORIES  OF  THE 


THE    FIGHT    ON    LOWREY'S    ISLAND   (OPPOSITE 
LARNED),  TWENTY  YEARS  AGO. 

It  was  a  magnificent  September  day  in  the  early  part  of 
that  month  in  the  year  1860.  The  amber  mist  of  the  glo- 
rious Indian  summer  hung  in  light  clouds  over  the  rippling 
Pawnee,  and  the  sheen  of  the  noon-day  sun  on  the  Arkansas, 
made  that  silent  stream  where  it  broadens  out  lake-like, 
toward  the  now  thriving  little  village  of  Garfield,  sparkle 
and  scintillate  until  it  was  painful  for  the  eyes  to  rest  upon  it. 
The  low  group  of  sand-hills  loomed  up  white  and  silvery,  like 
the  chalk  cliffs  of  Dover,  for  in  those  days — before  the  march 
of  immigration  had  wrought  its  remarkable  changes  in  our 
climate — these  sand-hills  were  bare,  and  for  miles  away  the 
contour  of  the  Arkansas  could  be  traced  by  their  conspicuous 
glare.  The  box  elders  and  cottonwoods  that  fringed  the  trib- 
utaries to  the  river  were  rapidly  donning  their  Autumn  dress 
of  russet,  and  the  mirage  had  already  in  the  early  mornings 
commenced  its  weird  and  fantastic  play  with  the  landscape. 

Under  the  shadow  of  the  bluff  where  Lamed  now  reposes 
so  picturesquely,  hundreds  of  buffaloes  were  grazing,  and  on 
the  plateau  above  the  crest  of  the  hill,  where  Mayor  Sunder- 
land's  handsome  residence  overlooks  the  town  and  the  broad 
valley,  a  few  sentinel  antelopes  were  guarding  their  charge, 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  75 

now  quietly  ruminating  their  morning's  meal  in  the  ravines 
running  toward  the  river. 

Near  where  Brown's  grove  is  located,  under  the  grateful 
shade  of  the  thickest  clumps  of  timber,  about  forty  wigwams 
were  irregularly  scattered,  and  on  the  hills  a  herd  of  two  or 
three  hundred  ponies  were  lazily  feeding,  guarded  by  half  a 
dozen  superannuated  squaws,  while  a  troop  of  dusky  little 
children  were  chasing  the  yellow  butterflies  from  the  now 
dried  and  dying  sun-flower  stalks  that  so  conspicuously  mark- 
ed the  broad  trail  to  the  river.  This  beautiful  spot  had  been 
selected  by  Black  Kettle,  chief  of  the  Cheyennes,  for  his 
winter  camp,  to  which  only  a  few  weeks  previously  he  had 
moved  from  the  Canadian,  and  settled  with  his  band  to  hunt 
on  the  Arkansas  Bottom,  and  watch  his  enemies,  the  Pawnees, 
who  claimed  the  same  ground,  and  where  year  after  year  the 
most  sanguinary  battles  between  the  two  tribes  had  been 
fought.  Apart  from  the  remainder  of  the  wigwams,  and  near 
the  edge  of  the  stream  was  the  magnificent  lodge  of  Yellow 
Buffalo,  the  war  chief  of  the  Cheyennes.  This  lodge  was 
formed  of  beautifully  porcupined  and  beaded  robes,  and  its 
interior  was  graced  with  a  long  row  of  scalps — the  trophies  of 
his  fame  as  a  great  warrior. 

On  the  morning  of  the  date  mentioned,  I  had  reached 
the  Arkanses  at  a  point  a  few  miles  east  of  the  mouth  of  the 
Pawnee,  on  my  way  to  Ft.  Lamed  from  my  ranch  on  Sharp's 
Creek,  (now  in  McPherson  county,)  and  when  near  where 
Lamed  stands  I  noticed  a  large  body  of  Indians  in  a  stoop- 


76  STORIES  OF  THE 

ing  attitude,  as  though  hunting  for  something,  and  I  sup- 
posed them  to  be  some  of  my  Kiowa  friends  on  the  trail  of 
an  enemy.  I  spurred  my  horse  and  rode  toward  them,  when 
suddenly  they  dropped  in  the  grass,  which  convinced  me  of 
the  error  of  my  first  supposition.  I  was  well  acquainted  at 
that  time  with  nearly  all  the  tribes  on  the  plains,  and  partic- 
ularly with  those  who  would  probably  be  in  that  vicinity  then, 
and  with  a  fair  knowledge  of  the  Indian  character  I  readily 
concluded  that  my  covey  in  the  grass  were  a  band  of  ' '  dog 
soldiers,"  of  some  tribe,  either  on  the  war  path  against  some 
of  the  other  tribes  that  roamed  in  the  valley  of  the  Arkansas, 
or  were  a  party  to  steal  horses ;  in  either  event  I  had  little  to 
fear,  as  the  report  of  a  gun  would  be  the  last  thing  they 
would  care  to  hear  just  then. 

So  I  rode  on,  and  when  within  a  hundred  yards  or  so  of 
the  party,  one  rose,  and  holding  both  hands  up  with  palms  to 
the  front,  in  his  own  dialect  called  my  name.  I  felt  consid- 
erably relieved  for  I  found  myself  among  thirty-two  Pawnees, 
who,  as  I  first  supposed,  were  there  to  steal  horses  from  the 
Cheyennes  and  Kiowas.  On  learning  this  fact,  I  told  them 
that  a  few  miles  back  on  the  trail,  I  had  seen  a  large  number 
of  Indians  on  the  high  prairie  scattered  out  as  if  surrounding 
buffalo,  or  elk,  but  that  I  had  seen  no  game,  and  now  I  knew 
their  presence  was  known  to  the  Arkansas  tribes,  and  that 
there  were  so  many  of  these  wild  Indians  the  few  Pawnees 
would  all  be  killed  if  found. 

They  then  told  me  they  wanted  to  reach  the  island  in  the 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  77 

river,  and  there  could  fight  all  the  Ingins  that  dare  to  come, 
and  if  they  got  to  the  island  before  the  wild  Indians  found 
them,  I  must  go  to  them  and  tell  them  that  they  were  there, 
and  myself  come  and  see  the  fight.  That  if  I  staid  on  my 
horse,  either  on  the  east  or  west  side  of  the  island,  or  on  the 
hill  on  the  northwest,  I  could  see  it  all  and  be  safe  from  their 
bullets;  and  if  they  all  got  killed  I  should  tell  their  people 
how  grandly  and  bravely  they  died. 

I  left  them  and  went  on  toward  the  fort,  and  when 
within  three  miles  of  it,  met  "Yellow  Buffalo"  with  two 
hundred  of  his  warriors,  their  war-paint  on  and  beating  their 
drums  furiously. 

"Yellow  Buffalo"  was  then  about  thirty  years  old,  and 
as  magnificent  a  looking  Indian  as  I  ever  saw.  I  delivered 
my  message  from  the  Pawnees  to  him,  immediately  upon 
which  the  two  hundred  warriors  raised  the  war-cry,  which 
echoed  and  reverberated  in  all  the  splendor  of  its  savage 
grandeur  over  the  prairie,  and  which  none  but  those  who 
have  heard  it  under  such  circumstances  can  appreciate. 

Stung  to  the  heart  by  my  message  of  defiance,  "Yellow 
Buffalo  "  appeared  the  true  savage  that  he  really  was,  all  the 
ferocity  of  his  wild  nature  glaring  in  his  eyes  as  he  thought  of 
the  deep  wrongs  done  to  his  tribe  by  the  "dogs  of  Pawnees  !" 
as  he  called  them,  and  appealing  to  his  men  "  that  now  was 
the  time  presented  to  them,  to  not  only  reap  an  adequate 
revenge,  but  add  lasting  laurels  to  their  wreaths  as  brave  and 
skillful  warriors,"  he  again  gave  the  signal  for  another  chal- 


78  STORIES  OF  THE 

lenging  yell,  and  pointed  to  the  hiding  place  of  his  enemies 
down  the  river  with  an  air  of  derision. 

We  were  a  short  distance  south  of  the  old  Santa  Fe 
trail,  and  ordering  his  band  to  turn  nearly  due  south,  we 
loped  off  in  the  direction  of  the  island.  As  we  neared  the 
river  bank,  we  saw  the  last  of  the  Pawnees — who  had  been 
watching  our  approach — plunge  into  the  stream  and  reach 
the  island  in  safety,  as  our  advance  halted  on  the  spot  where 
now  rests  the  north  end  of  the  Lamed  bridge.  It  was  about 
two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  Cheyennes  dismounted,  and 
every  tenth  man  went  to  the  rear  to  hold  the  horses  and 
guard  them  from  a  possible  flank  movement  on  the  part  of 
the  Pawnees.  I  was  honored  by  "  Yellow  Buffalo"  with  the 
privilege  of  taking  care  of  my  own  horse — which,  I  am 
happy  to  say,  I  did  from  a  position  on  the  south  end  of  the 
hill  west  of  the  town,  and  as  near  the  river  as  was  prudent 
for  a  non-combatant.  Nearly  all  the  Cheyennes  were  armed 
with  muzzle-loading  rifles,  and  a  third  of  them  had  Colt's 
large  army  revolvers.  At  the  command  of  their  chief,  "  Yel- 
low Buffalo  "  the  Cheyennes  formed  a  line  of  battle,  which 
seemed  to  extend  up  and  down  the  river  the  whole  length  of 
the  island,  while  five  or  six  of  them  acted  as  flankers.  Dur- 
ing this  disposition  of  the  forces,  not  a  Pawnee  was  to  be 
seen. 

In  those  days  the  island  was  covered  only  with  dwarf 
willows,  the  Box-Elders  which  have,  within  the  past  few 
years,  graced  it,  were  then  unknown,  and  instead  of  the  park- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  79 

like  and  arborescent  form  it  assumes  to-day,  it  was  merely  a 
rather  excellent  hiding  place  for  the  savage,  or  a  home  for 
the  fragrant  skunk.  The  thick  willows  concealed  the  watch- 
ful Pawnees,  who  were  rather  better  armed  than  the  Chey- 
ennes,  in  consequence  of  the  former  living  in  close  communion 
with  the  settlements.  They  each  had  a  Spencer  carbine — 
then  the  arm  par-excellence  of  the  frontier — and  two  revolv- 
ers either  army  or  navy  pattern,  besides  their  bows,  and  quiv- 
ers well  filled  with  arrows.  When  all  was  in  readiness,  and 
"  Yellow  Buffalo  "had  made  a  proper  disposition  of  his  forces, 
he  gave  the  order  to  charge  !  Upon  hearing  his  clear  voice 
ring  across  the  prairie,  his  warriors  responded  with  a  most  un- 
earthly yell  that  seemed  to  shake  even  the  eternal  dunes  of 
sand  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  and  then  rushed  pell- 
mell  into  the  Arkansas.  The  water  was  waist  high,  and  as 
they  advanced  they  kept  up  their  infernal  whoop  until  they 
reached  within  ten  feet  of  the  island,  when  like  a  flash  of  light 
from  a  clear  sky  came  a  sheet  of  flame  from  the  edge  of  the 
willows,  which  was  promptly  responded  to  by  the  braves  in 
the  water. 

In  an  instant,  however,  as  much  to  my  surprise  as  to 
their  enemies,  the  Pawnees  delivered  from  their  ranks  an 
other  volley  followed  immediately  by  the  quick  sharp  crack 
of  their  revolvers,  which  seemed  completely  to  overwhelm 
and  discomfort  the  Cheyennes,  all  of  whom  beat  a  hasty  retreat 
to  the  main  land.  Their  war-whoop  ceased  the  instant  the 
Cheyennes  commenced  their  backward  march,  and  in  a  mo- 


80  STORIES  OF  THE 

ment  some  twenty  of  the  Pawnees  appeared  above  the  willows, 
and  kept  up  a  well  directed  fire  on  their  foes  until  the  latter 
reached  the  bank  of  the  river. 

In  this  single  charge  of  the  Cheyennes,  thirteen  were 
killed  outright  and  twenty-three  wounded,  which  evinced  a 
coolness  and  deliberation  on  the  part  of  the  Pawnees  not  ex- 
celled by  the  best  organized  troops.  The  Cheyennes  in  their 
charge  showed  their  characteristic  recklessness  and  daring, 
which,  however,  counted  for  nothing  in  results,  as  all  the 
shots  were  carried  clear  over  the  heads  of  the  Pawnees  who 
were  concealed  by  the  friendly  willows. 

While  the  main  body  of  the  Pawnees  were  keeping  up  their 
almost  incessant  fire  upon  the  retreating  Cheyennes,  three  or 
four  others  arose  at  opposite  ends  of  the  Island,  and  opened 
with  some  well  delivered  shots  with  their  carbines  at  the 
Cheyenne  flankers,  so  that  the  whole  number  became  demor- 
alized, and  "Yellow  Buffalo,"  with  all  his  painted  warriors, 
fled  as  far  back  as  to  where  the  Presbyterian  church  now 
stands  on  Main  street,  and  held  a  council.  "Yellow  Buffalo" 
then  got  on  his  horse  and  rode  up  the  hill  to  me,  and  asked 
me  "how  many  Pawnees  I  had  seen." 

I  told  him  I  did  not  count  them,  but  to  the  best  of  my 
judgment  there  were  not  more  than  thirty-five,  but  the  way 
they  spoke  of  reaching  the  island  as  a  place  of  safety,  they 
might  have  had  reference  to  more  men  there,  than  to  the 
strength  of  their  medicine. 

He  answered  despondingly,  "  they  must  have  more  than 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  81 

two  hundred  from  the  number  of  shots  fired,  and  the  way 
they  were  scattered  along  the  bank." 

"Yellow  Buffalo"  then  dispatched  a  messenger  for  rein- 
forcements, and  in  about  an  hour  they  arrived  from  the  south 
of  the  river  to  the  number  of  four  or  five  hundred,  and  upon 
their  joining  the  others,  "  Yellow  Buffalo  "  made  the  same  dis- 
position of  his  now  augmented  forces  as  he  had  with  his 
original  army,  and  then  turned  hisr  command  over  to  "  Black 
Kettle,"  who  had  come  on  the  ground. 

"  Black  Kettle  kept  his  Indians  in  close  order,  and  when 
they  reached  within  shooting  distance  of  the  island,  the  Paw- 
nees opened  upon  them  with  a  terrible  volley,  and  the  most 
deafening  and  diabolical  yells,  and  kept  it  up  for  at  least  ten 
minutes.  The  poor  Cheyennes  returned  the  fire  as  best  they 
could,  but  ipvariably  overshot  the  Pawnees  whom  they  could 
not  see,  so  closely  were  they  hidden  by  the  willows. 

In  the  wild  firing,  many  bullets  passed  over  my  head, 
and  I  made  a  masterly  strategic  movement  to  the  east  of  the 
town,  and  again  escaped  danger.  Meanwhile,  "  Black  Ket- 
tle, as  well  as  myself,  ingloriously  retreated  from  whence  we 
came,  and  then  "Yellow  Buffalo"  felt  himself  no  more  dis- 
graced than  the  "head  war  chief"  and  his  chosen  warriors. 
Thus  ended  this  rather  remarkable  fight.  I  never  could 
learn  definitely  how  many  of  the  Cheyennes  were  killed  or 
wounded  in  the  second  charge — the  Pawnees  told  me  they 
were  double  the  number  of  the  first  charge,  but  coming  as 
it  did  from  the  victors,  I  always  made  a  reasonable  allowance 


82  STORIES  OF  THE 

for  possible  exaggeration.  The  Cheyennes  utterly  refused  to 
tell  me  the  number  of  their  loss,  but  I  saw  the  wounded  that 
night,  and  helped  dress  most  of  their  wounds.  There  were 
twenty-eight  in  "Black  Kettle's"  camp  alone.  He  admitted 
no  deaths,  but  I  saw  them  pack  more  than  thirty  out  of  the 
river,  and  the  Pawnees  took  five  scalps,  which  I  saw  them  go 
and  procure  about  twenty  minutes  after  the  second  charge. 
On  my  return  from  the  Fort  next  day  with  my  mail,  the  Chey- 
ennes informed  me  that  these  same  Pawnees  charged  through 
the  guards  and  actually  drove  off  about  two  hundred  of  the 
Cheyennes'  ponies. 

The  Pawnees  assured  me  that  they  had  but  forty  warri- 
ors all  told,  and  they  they  lost  in  killed  and  wounded  but 
two.  The  Cheyennes  stated,  however,  that  they  "found  five 
graves  in  the  sand-hills  under  the  edge  of  the  water,  which 
they  exhumed  and  left  the  bodies  to  rot,  and  the  bones  to 
bleach  on  the  prairie  like  a  coyote." 

The  Cheyennes  would  never  refer  to  the  fight  of  their  own 
accord,  and  only  spoke  of  it  with  the  greatest  reluctance  when 
the  subject  was  forced  upon  them. 


OLD  SANTA  FE    TRAIL.  83 


A  LEGEND  OF  PAWNEE  ROCK; 

OR, 
HOW    THE    LIFE    OF    AN    OLD    TRAPPER    WAS    SAVED    BY  A  BIRD. 

The  thinly  scattered,  and  now  almost  obliterated  trails 
leading  in  every  direction  away  from  Pawnee  Rock,  have  a 
fearful  record  of  desperate  adventures  and  journeys  that  often 
ended  there  with  tragic  death,  and  volumes  could  be  written 
were  it  possible  to  gather  the  materials  floating  in  legendary 
form  among  the  old  trappers,  but  these  are,  unfortunately, 
rapidly  passing  away,  and  much  that  would  be  full  of  interest 
must  be  irrevocably  lost. 

The  hardy  trappers  in  the  early  days  of  the  "  Great  Cen- 
tral Plains,"  isolated  themselves  in  the  vast  solitudes  of  the 
interior  of  the  continent,  and  only  made  their  visits  to  the 
small  trading  stations  on  the  "River,  "as  the  Missouri  was 
called— like  those  attributed  to  angels — "  few  ^and  far  be- 
tween." 

Many  of  them  indulged  in  the  most  extravagant  stories 
and  strange  adventures,  occasionally  bordering  on  the  super- 
natural, all  of  which  was  usually  unsuspiciously  swallowed  by 
the  ignorant  and  gaping  crowd  of  listeners  who  were  ready 
to  believe  anything  of  the  mysteries  beyond  the  settlements. 

At  that  time  the  whole  region  stretching  from  the  Missouri 
to  the  Mountains  was  an  unexplored  wilderness,  excepting  a 


84  STORIES  OF  THE 

narrow  belt  contiguous  to  the  river — a  sort  of  terra  incognita 
in  fact,  whose  woods  and  streams  abounded  in  remarkably 
fertile  themes  for  the  play  of  the  wildest  imagination. 

The  trade  with  New  Mexico  via  the  Plains  was  inau- 
gurated in  1823,  at  which  date  the  first  train  of  wagons  that 
ever  traveled  in  that  direction,  started  from  Boonville,  Mis- 
souri. Their  route  was  directly  up  the  valley  of  the  Arkansas 
to  Pawnee  Rock,  and  for  fifty  years — until  the  advent  of  the 
railroad  in  this  portion  of  Kansas  in  1873 — the  trail  of  the 
freighters  passed  within  a  hundred  rods  of  the  Rock. 

For  years,  the  idea  of  the  possibility  of  the  settlement  of 
that  great  inter-continental  tract  never  entered  the  minds  of 
even  the  most  sanguine  believer  in  the  future  of  that  portion 
of  our  domain — it  was  a  desert  to  all  intents  and  purposes, 
according  to  the  early  geographers,  and  a  desert  it  was  to 
remain. 

But  the  extension  of  our  vast  railway  system  beyond  the 
Mississippi  forever  determined  the  question  of  the  settlement 
of  the  plains — which  in  1872  reached  as  far  as  Pawnee  Rock. 
The  "  desert"  has  disappeared,  and  in  its  place  has  risen  one 
grand  picture  of  fertility  and  happy  homes. 

As  has  been  referred  to  in  "How  Pawnee  Rock  was 
Named,"  the  remains  of  those  who  met  their  death  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  Rock  are  frequently  ploughed  up  in  the  spring 
and  fall.  These  frequent  graves  are  a  source  of  curiosity  and 
a  matter  of  speculation  and  gossip  to  those  who  have  recently 
moved  here — whose  homes  have  ever  been  in  the  far-back 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  85 

civilization  of  the  crowded  East,  and  who  are  necessarily  ig- 
norant of  the  traditions  and  history  of  that  portion  of  the 
plains  on  which  they  have  settled.  Only  little  more  than  a 
year  ago  one  of  these  new-comers,  a  well-to-do  farmer,  living 
a  few  miles  west  of  Lamed  on  Pawnee  Bottom,  having  ob- 
served in  one  of  his  fields  a  singular  depression,  remarkably 
resembling  an  old  grave,  such  as  is  frequently  found  in  ven- 
erable church  yards,  he  determined  to  dig  down  and  see  if 
there  was  any  special  cause  for  the  strange  indentation  on  his 
land. 

At  a  couple  of  feet  below  the  surface  he  discovered  several 
flat  pieces  of  stone,  on  one  of  which  the  words:  "Washing- 
ton" and  "  J.  Hildreth"  were  rudely  cut,  also  a  line  separat- 
ing them,  and  underneathTthe  date:  "December  TO"  and 
"J.  M.,  1850."  On  another  was  carved  the  name  "J.  H. 
Shell,"  and  other  characters  that  could  not  be  deciphered. 
On  a  third  stone  were  the  initials  "  H.  R.,  1847,"  under- 
neath this  was  plainly  cut  "  J.  R.  Boyd,"  and  still  beneath 
this  "J.  R.  Pring."  At  the  very  bottom  of  the  excavation 
were  found  the  lower  portion  of  the  skull,  one  or  two  ribs, 
and  one  of  the  bones  of  the  leg  of  a  human  being.  The  piece 
of  skull  was  found  near  the  center  of  the  grave,  for  such  it 
certainly  was.  Who  were  the  parties  whose  names  were  thus 
strangely  handed  down  on  those  rude  fragments  of  stone  ? 
Who  had  been  buried  there,  and  why  could  only  the  under 
poTtfoiTof  7he~skuifof  one  be  found  ?  Was  he  an  emigrant 
crossing  the  plains  for  far-off  Oregon,  or  the  rich  placers  of 
9 


86  STORIES  OF  THE 

California,  and,  stricken  by  disease,  kindly  buried  there  on 
the  lone  prairie  by  his  companions  ?  Or  was  he  a  hunter, 
and  in  fierce  combat  with  the  Indians  sent  by  the  murderous 
scalping  knife  to  his  untimely  grave  ?  These  were  the  char- 
acter of  the  questions  asked  of  each  other  in  the  little  settle- 
ment last  summer,  when  the  little  grave  was  opened. 

At  any  rate  some  one  died  there,  the  knowledge  of  whose 
existence  has  only  thus  curiously  come  to  light  years  after  he 
had  almost  crumbled  into  dust. 

A  story  strange  and  romantic  enough  for  the  most  sensa- 
tional minds  is  frequently  woven  by  the  brains  of  our  novelists 
out  of  as  few  and  meager  facts  as  are  found  in  the  above  simple 
discovery  of  a  few  roughly  cut  stones  and  crumbling  bones, 
and  an  imaginative  writer  could  easily  weave  one  out  of  these, 
but  such  is  not  my  purpose. 

At  the  time  of  the  discovery  of  this  old  grave  I  consulted 
my  book  of  notes  and  memoranda  taken  hurriedly  at  intervals 
on  the  plains  for  half  a  life-time,  to  see  if  I  could  find  in  the 
legends  and  anecdotes  I  have  picked  up  from  time  to  time, 
anything  that  would  solve  the  mystery  attached  to  that  quiet 
prairie  grave  and  its  contents.  I  succeeded  in  finding  among 
my  mass  of  manuscript  a  crude  and  unadorned  little  sketch, 
gleaned  from  an  old  trapper  some  twelve  years  since,  that 
partially  clears  up  the  secret,  and  throws  a  ray  of  light  upon 
the  death  of  him  whose  bones  have  been  waiting  Christian 
burial,  on  the  river  bottom,  a  few  miles  from  Pawnee  Rock, 
these  thirty  years.  A  conversation  and  interchange  of  notes 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  87 

on  the  subject  with  Col.  A.  G.  Boone*  the  past  winter,  con- 
firms the  probability  of  the  truth  of  the  story  as  given  to  me 
so  many  years  ago. 

Of  course  every  one  who  has  lived  or  traveled  on  the 
plains  during  the  last  quarter  of  a  century,  remembers  Uncle 
John  Smith,  f  He  was  an  old  trapper  and  guide — had  been 
among  the  Indians  for  more  than  forty  years — and  figured 
only  a  little  less  conspicuously  in  the  history  of  the  Far  West 
than  Kit  Carson,  Maxwell  and  other  sons  of  the  border. 

Old  Uncle  John  was  a  character  in  his  way,  and  as  full 
of  cranks  and  superstitions  as  a  Congo  negro.  I  am  sorry  to 
observe,  too,  that  iiis  reputation  for  unexag^erated  and  ortho- 
dox truth  was  not  as  immaculate  as  he  of  the  cherry  tree 
notoriety,  and  therefore  I  should  have  taken  his  statement, 
which  is  the  subject  of  this  sketch,  cum  grano  sqlis,  had  it  not 
been  confirmed  by  that  eloquent  old  gentleman,  Col.  Boone. 

"Uncle  John"  was  a  perfect  encyclopedia  of  plains' 
lore,  and  acquainted  with  every  foot  of  country  beyond  the 
Missouri,  or  as  he  used  to  express  it,  "  had  slept  under  every 
cottonwood  and  drank  out  of  every  spring  from  the  mouth 
of  the  Yellowstone  to  the  Red  river  of  the  South." 

I  was  camping  with  the  old  man  in  November,  1868,  on 

*Col.  A.  G.  Boone  is  still  hale  and  vigorous,  and  as  wiry  as  his  celebrated  grand 
father,  the  pioneer  hero  of  Kentucky.  He  is  a  splendid  specimen  of  a  well-preserved 
frontiersman,  possessing  a  knowledge  of  the  Indian  in  all  his  varied  situations  not 
excelled  by  any  one,  and  enjoys  the  confidence  of  nearly  all  the  tribes  and  every 
old  white  hunter  on  the  plains.  H.  I. 

fHe  died  in  1873,  and  is  buried  among  the  Cheyennes,  who  adopted  him  more 
than  forty  years  ago. 


88  STORIES  OF  THE 

the  bank  of  the  Wachita,  only  a  short  time  after  Ouster's  mem- 
orable fight  with  Black  Kettle,  waiting  with  a  train  of  sup- 
plies for  the  troops  who  had  been  ordered  to  rendezvous  by 
General  Sheridan  at  that  point.  We  had  been  living  almost 
exclusively  on  wild  turkey  for  the  weary  fourteen  days  of  our 
sojourn  on  that  historic  creek,  and  were  heartily  tired  of  them. 
One  evening  some  of  our  party  had  succeeded  in  bagging  a 
few  quails,  and  when  the  announcement  was  made  of  a  pro- 
spective change  of  diet,  it  was  received  with  evident  satisfac- 
tion. Late  in  the  evening  when  my  cook  brought  the  de- 
licious little  birds,  beautifully  spitted,  on  peeled  willow  twigs, 
into  my  tent,  and  passed  one  to  "  Uncle  John"  in  his  turn, 
he  refused.  Said  he,  "  Boys,  I  don't  eat  no  quail." 

All  the  rest  of  us  were  completely  surprised,  for  '•  Uncle 
John"  was  considerable  of  a  gourmand  and  prided  himself 
upon  the  "faculty,"  as  he  termed  it,  of  being  able  to  eat 
anything,  from  a  piece  of  jerked  buffalo  hide  to  the  juiciest 
young  antelope  steak. 

I  said:  "  'Uncle  John,'  these  birds  are  magnificently 
broiled;  you  are  making  a  mistake,  old  man;  to-morrow  we 
must  leave  here,  and  as  we  are  going  straight  away  from  the 
buffalo  country,  we  don't  know  when  we  shall  strike  fresh 
meat  again.  You  had  better  try  one. 

"Boys,"  said  he,  "I  don't  tech  quail;  I  hain't  teched 
one  for  more  nor  twenty  years.  One  of  the  little  cusses 
saved  my  live  once,  and  I  swore  right  thar  and  then  that  I 
would  starve  fust,  and  I've  kept  that  oath,  though  I've  seen 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  89 

the  time  I  could  a  killed  'em  with  my  quirt,  when  all  I  had 
to  chaw  on  for  four  days  was  the  soles  of  a  greasy  old  mocca- 
sin." 

Of  course  our  whole  party  was  eager  to  know  how  the 
life  of  the  old  trapper  had  been  saved  by  a  little  bird,  and  in 
a  few  moments  every  man  in  camp  gathered  around  the  dy- 
ing embers  of  the  cook's  fire  to  listen  to  "Uncle  John's"  story. 
I  filled  up  the  old  man's  pipe  with  some  of  my  best  "Lone 
Jack,"  lighted  it,  took  a  pull,  Indian  fashion,  and  passed  it 
to  him.  He  loved  good  tobacco,  and  was  always  more  commu- 
nicative when  seated  around  the  camp-fire,  half-hidden  in  a 
cloud  of  smoke.  One  of  the  men  threw  a  chunk  of  dry  cot- 
tonwood  on  the  coals,  and  as  the  flames  began  to  lick  up  the 
shaggy  bark,  casting  a  pleasant  shimmer  on  the  old  guide's 
face,  he  took  a  vigorous  pull  at  his  pipe  and  commenced. 

"Well,  boys,  it's  a  good  many  years  ago — in  June,  if  I 
don't  disremember — 1847.  We  was  a  coming  in  from  way 
up  in  "Cache  le  Poudre,"  and  from  Yellowstone  Lake,  whar 
we'd  been  a  trapping  for  two  seasons.  We  was  a  working 
our  way  slowly  back  to  Independence,  Missouri,  where  we 
was  a  going  to  get  a  new  outfit.  Let's  see — there  was  me, 
and  a  man  by  the  name  of  Boyd,  and  Lew  Thorp — Lew  was 
a  working  for  Colonel  Boone  at  the  time — and  two  more  men 
whose  names  I  disremember  now,  and  a  nigger  wench  we 
had  for  a  cook.  We  had  mighty  good  luck,  and  had  a  big 
pile  of  skins ;  and  the  Indians  never  troubled  us  till  we  got 
down  on  Pawnee  Bottom,  this  side  of  Pawnee  Rock.  We 


90  STORIES  OF  THE 

all  of  us  had  mighty  good  ponies,  but  Thorp  had  a  team  and 
wagon,  which  he  was  driving  for  Colonel  Boone. 

61  We  had  went  into  camp  on  Pawnee  Bottom  airly  in  the 
afternoon,  and  I  told  the  boys  to  look  out  for  Indians— for  I 
knowed  ef  we  was  to  have  any  trouble  with  them  it  would  be 
somewhere  in  that  vicinity.  But  we  didn't  see  a  darned  red- 
skin that  night,  nor  the  sign  of  one. 

"The  wolves  howled  considerable,  and  cum  pretty  close 
to  the  fire  after  the  bacon  rinds  we'd  throwed  away  after  sup- 
per. 

"You  see  the  buffalo  was  scurse  right thar  then — it  was 
the  wrong  time  o'year.  They  generally  don't  get  down  onto 
the  Arkansas  till  about  September,  and  when  ther'e  scurse, 
the  wolves  and  coyotes  are  mighty  sassy,  and  will  steal  a 
piece  of  bacon  rind  right  out  of  the  pan,  if  you  don't  watch 
;em.  So  we  picketed  our  ponies  a  little  closer,  before  we 
turned  in  and  we  all  went  to  sleep  except  one,  who  sort 
o'keep  watch  on  the  stock. 

"  I  was  out  o'  my  blankets  mighty  airly  next  morning, 
for  I  was  kind  o'  suspicious.  I  could  always  tell  when  In- 
dians was  prowling  around,  and  I  had  a  sort  of  presentment 
something  was  going  to  happen — I  didn't  like  the  way  the 
coyotes  kept  yelling — so  I  rested  kind  o'  oneasy  like,  and 
was  out  among  the  ponies  by  the  first  streak  o'  daylight. 

"About  the  time  I  could  fairly  see  things,  I  discovered 
three  or  four  buffalo  grazing  off  on  the  creek  bottom,  about  a 
half  mile  away,  and  I  started  for  my  rifle,  thinking  I  would 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  91 

examine  her,  and  after  we'd  had  breakfast  go  out  and  blow 
one  of  the  critters  in. 

"  Pretty  soon  I  seed  Thorp  and  Boyd  crawl  out  o'  their 
blankets,  too,  and  I  called  their  attention  to  the  buffalo, 
which  was  still  feeding  undisturbed. 

"  We'd  been  kind  o'  scurse  of  fresh  meat  for  a  couple  of 
weeks — ever  since  we  left  the  Platte,  except  a  jack-rabbit  or 
cottontail,  and  I  knowed  the  boys  would  be  wanting  to  get 
a  quarter  or  two  of  a  good  fat  cow,  if  we  could  find  one  in 
the  herd  so  that  was  the  reason  I  pointed  'em  out  to  'em. 

"  The  dew — you  see — was  mighty  heavy,  and  the  grass  in 
the  bottom  was  as  wet  as  if  it  had  been  raining  for  a  month, 
and  I  didn't  care  to  go  down  whar  the  buffalo  was  just  then 
— I  knowed  we  had  plenty  of  time  and  as  soon  as  the  sun 
was  up  it  would  dry  right  off.  So  I  got  onto  one  of  the  po- 
nies and  led  the  others  down  to  the  spring  near  camp  to  water 
them  while  the  wench  was  a  getting  breakfast,  and  some  o' 
the  rest  o'  the  outfit  was  a  fixin  the  saddles  and  greasing  the 
wagon. 

"Just  as  I  was  coming  back — it  had  growed  quite  light 
then — I  seed  Boyd  and  Thorp  start  out  from  camp  with 
their  rifles  and  make  for  the  buffalo,  so  I  picketed  the  ponies, 
gets  my  rifle  and  starts  off  too. 

"  By  the  time  I'd  reached  the  edge  of  the  bottom,  Thorp 
and  Boyd  was  a  crawling  up  onto  a  young  bull  way  off  to  the 
right,  and  I  lit  out  for  a  fat  cow  I  seen  bunched  up  with  the 
rest  of  the  herd  on  the  left. 


92  STORIES  OF  THE 

"  The  grass  was  mighty  tall  on  some  parts  of  the  Arkan- 
sas bottom  in  them  days,  and  I  got  within  easy  shooting 
range  without  the  herd  seeing  me. 

"The  buffalo  was  now  between  me  and  Thorp  and  Boyd, 
and  they  was  further  from  camp.  I  could  see  them  over  the 
top  of  the  grass  kind  o'  edging  up  to  the  bull,  and  I  kept  a 
crawling  on  my  hands  and  knees  toward  the  cow,  and  when 
I  got  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  of  her,  I  pulled  up 
my  rifle  and  drawed  a  bead. 

"Just  as  I  was  running  my  eye  along  the  bar'l  a  darned 
little  quail  flew  right  out  from  under  my  feet  and  lit  exactly 
on  my  front  sight  and  of  course  cut  off  my  aim — we  didn't 
shoot  reckless  in  those  days;  every  shot  had  to  tell,  or  a 
man  was  the  laughing  stock  for  a  month  if  he  missed  his 
game. 

"  I  shook  the  little  critter  off  and  brought  up  my  rifle  again 
when  durn  my  skin  if  the  bird  didn't  lite  right  onto  the 
same  place ;  at  the  same  time  my  eyes  growed  kind  o'  hazy 
like  and  in  a  minute  I  didn't  know  nothing. 

"  When  I  come  to  the  quail  was  gone,  I  heerd  a  couple  of 
rifle  shots,  and  right  in  front  of  where  the  bull  had  stood  and 
close  to  Thorp  and  Boyd,  half  a  dozen  Indians  jumped  up 
out  o'  the  tall  grass  and  firing  into  the  two  men,  killed  Thorp 
instantly  and  wounded  Boyd 

"He  and  me  got  to  camp— keeping  off  the  Indians  who 
knowed  I  was  loaded — when  we,  with  the  rest  of  the  outfit* 
drove  the  red  devils  away. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  93 

"They  was  Apaches,  and  the  fellow  that  shot  Thorp  was 
a  half  breed  nigger  and  Apache.  He  scalped  Thorp  and  car- 
ried off  the  whole  upper  part  ef  his  skull  with  it.  He  got 
Thorp's  rifle  and  bullet  pouch  too,  and  his  knife.* 

"We  buried  Thorp  in  the  bottom  here,  and  some  of  the 
party  cut  their  names  on  the  stones  that  they  covered  his 
body  up  with,  to  keep  the  coyotes  from  eating  up  his  bones. 

"Boyd  got  onto  the  river  with  us  all  right,  and  I  never 
heerd  of  him  after  we  separated  at  Booneville.  We  pulled 
out  soon  after  the  Indians  left,  but  we  didn't  get  no  buffalo 
meat. 

"You  see  boys,  if  I'd  a  fired  into  that  cow  the  devils 
would  a  had  me  before  I  could  a  got  a  patch  on  my  ball — 
didn't  have  no  breech-loaders  in  them  days,  and  it  took  as 
much  judgment  to  know  how  to  load  a  rifle  properly  as  it  did 
to  shoot  it. 

"Them  Indians  knowed  all  that — they  knowed  I  hadn't 
fired,  so  they  kept  va  respectable  distance.  I  would  a  fired 
but  the  quail  saved  my  life  by  interfering  with  my  sight — and 
that's  the  reason  I  don't  eat  no  quail — I  hain't  superstitious, 
but  I  don't  believe  they  was  meant  to  be  eat." 

Uncle  John  stuck  to  his  text,  I  believe,  until  he  died, 
and  you  could  never  disabuse  his  mind  of  the  idea  that  the 
quail  lighting  on  his  rifle  was  not  a  special  interposition  of 
Providence. 


*Col.  A.  G.  Boone  confirms  all  this,  and  got  bick  the  articles  a  short  time  af 
terward  from  the  Chief  of  the  Apaches. 


94  STORIES  OF  THE 


ANOTHER  LEGEND  OF  PAWNEE  ROCK. 

"  Pawnee  Rock  "  has  probably  been  the  scene  of  a  hun- 
dred rights,  and  a  volume  could  be  written  in  relation  to  it. 
Kit  Carson,  one  night  some  fifteen  years  ago,  when  he,  Jack 
Henderson,  Lucien  B.  Maxwell,  a  couple  of  Apache  Indi- 
ans and  myself,  were  camped  half  way  up  the  rugged  sides 
of  "  Old  Baldy,"  in  the  "  Raton  Range,"  told  in  his  pecul- 
iarly expressive  way,  among  other  border  reminiscences,  the 
following  little  story,  the  incidents  of  which  occurred  long 
years  ago. 

The  night  was  cold,  although  midsummer,  and  we  were 
huddled  around  a  little  fire  of  pine  knots  more  than  eight 
thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  close  to  the  snow 
limit.  We  had  left  Maxwell's  early  in  the  morning  to  trace 
a  quartz  lead  that  cropped  out  near  the  mouth  of  the  copper 
mine  worked  by  him,  and  night  overtook  us  many  miles  from 
the  ranch,  so  we  concluded  to  remain  on  the  mountain  un- 
til daylight.  We  had  no  blankets,  and,  of  course,  had  to  sit 
up  through  the  long  hours,  and  as  it  was  terribly  cold,  made 
a  fire,  filled  our  pipes,  and  spun  yarns  to  keep  awake.  Our 
lunch  that  we  had  brought  was  eaten  up  about  noon,  so  we 
were  supperless  as  well,  but  a  swift,  cold  mountain  stream 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  95 

ran  close  to  our  little  camp  and  we  took  a  swallow  of  that 
occasionally,  which  served  the  place  of  a  meal. 

Kit  (the  General,  as  every  one  called  him)  was  in  a  good 
humor  for  talking,  and  we  naturally  took  advantage  of  this 
to  draw  him  out,  for  usually  he  was  the  most  reticent  of  men 
in  relation  to  his  own  exploits.  The  night  was  pretty  dark — 
there  was  no  moon — and  our  fire  of  dry  knots  blazed  up  beau- 
tifully every  time  the  two  Indians — whom  we  had  appointed 
to  this  special  duty — threw  a  fresh  armful  on.  The  flames 
cast  their  weird  and  fanciful  shadows  on  the  side  of  the 
mountain,  and  contrasted  curiously  with  the  inky  blackness 
all  around  below  us,  while  far  above  could  be  seen  the  dim 
outline  of  "  Old  Baldy's"  scarred  and  weather-beaten  crest, 
piled  crag  upon  crag  until  they  seemed  to  touch  the  star-lit 
sky. 

For  an  hour  or  two  the  conversation  was  confined  to  the 
probabilities  of  gold  being  found  in  paying  quantities  in  the 
mountains  and  gulches  of  the  range,  and  when  the  interest 
on  that  subject  flagged,  Maxwell  having  made  a  casual  re- 
mark in  relation  to  some  peak  near  by,  just  discern  able  in  th^ 
darkness,  and  connecting  the  locality  with  some  trouble  he 
had  had  ten  or  a  dozen  years  before  with  the  Indians,  opened 
Kit  Carson's  mouth,  and  he  said  he  remembered  one  of  the 
"  worst  difficults"  a  man  ever  got  into,  so  he  made  a  fresh 
corn  shuck  cigarette  and  told  us  the  following  about  Pawnee 
Rock,  which  he  said  had  been  written  up  years  ago,  and  that 
he  had  a  paper  containing  it,  (which  he  afterward  gave  me,) 


96  STORIES  OF  THE 

and     which,  with  what  Kit  related  orally  that  night,  is  here 
presented : 

"  It  was  old  Jim  Gibson — poor  fellow  he  went  under  in  a 
fight  with  the  Utes  over  twenty  years  ago,  and  his  bones  are 
bleaching  somewhere  in  the  dark  canons  of  the  Range,  or 
on  the  slopes  of  the  Spanish  Peaks.  He  used  to  tell  of  a 
scrimmage  he  and  another  fellow  had  on  the  Arkansas  with 
the  Kiowas  in  1836. 

"Jim  and  his  pardner,  Bill  something  or  other,  I  disremem- 
ber  his  name  now,  had  been  trapping  up  in  the  Powder  River 
country  during  the  winter  with  unusual  good  luck — the  beaver 
was  mighty  thick  in  the  whole  Yellowstone  region  in  them 
days,  and  Jim  and  Bill  got  an  early  start  on  their  journey  for 
the  River  that  spring — you  see  they  expected  to  sell  their 
truck  in  Weston,  Missouri,  which  was  the  principal  trading 
point  on  the  river  then.  They  walked  the  whole  distance — 
over  fifteen  hundred  miles — driving  three  good  mules  before 
them,  on  which  their  plunder  was  packed,  and  they  got 
along  well  enough  until  they  struck  the  Arkansas  at 
Pawnee  Rock.  Here  they  met  a  war-party  of  about  sixty 
Kiowas,  who  treed  them  on  the  Rock.  Jim  and  Bill 
were  notoriously  brave,  and  both  dead  shots.  Before  they 
reached  the  Rock,  to  which  they  were  driven,  they  killed 
ten  of  the  Kiowas,  and  had  not  received  a  scratch.  They 
had  plenty  of  powder  and  a  pouch  full  of  bullets  each.  They 
also  had  a  couple  of  jack-rabbits  for  food  in  case  of  a  siege, 


OLD  SANTA   FE  TRAIL.  97 

and    the    perpendicular    walls  of  the    Rock  made    them  a 
natural  fortification — an  almost  impregnable  one.* 

"They  succeeded  in  securely  picketing  their  animals  on 
the  west  side  of  the  Rock  where  they  could  protect  them 
by  their  unerring  rifles — but  the  story  of  the  fight  must  be 
told  in  Jim's  own  way — he  was  a  pretty  well  educated  fellow, 
had  been  to  college,  I  believe,  in  his  younger  days,  lost  the  gal 
he  was  going  to  marry,  or  had  some  bad  luck  or  other,  and 
took  to  the  prairies  when  he  was  about  twenty.  I  will  try  to 
tell  it  as  nearly  as  he  did  as  possible. 

"After  the  durned  red  cusses  had  treed  us,  they 
picked  up  their  dead  and  packed  them  to  their  camp  at  the 
mouth  of  the  creek  a  little  piece  off.  In  a  few  moments  back 
they  all  came  mounted,  with  all  their  fixings  and  war  paint 
on.  Then  they  commenced  to  circle  around  us,  coming  clos- 
er, Indian  fashion,  every  time,  till  they  got  within  easy  rifle 
range,  when  they  slung  themselves  on  the  fore  side  of  their 
ponies,  and,  in  that  position,  opened  on  us.  Their  arrows 
fell  like  a  hail  storm  around  us  for  a  few  moments,  but,  as 
good  luck  would  have  it,  none  of  them  struck.  I  was  afraid 
they  would,  first  of  all,  attempt  to  kill  our  mules;  but  I  sup- 
pose they  thought  they  had  the  dead  wood  on  us,  and  the 
mules  would  come  mighty  handy  for  their  own  use  after  our 
scalps  were  dangling  at  their  belts.  But  we  were  taking  in 

*Pawnee  Rock  has,  through  the  agency  of  man,  changed  much  s'nce  the  ad- 
vent of  the  railroad.  Its  once  lofty  summit  has  been  stripped  and  the  stone  used 
for  all  sorts  of  purposes  by  the  farmers  and  the  road,  so  that  now  it  is  only  a  com- 
paratively low  mound. — H.  I. 

10 


98  STORIES  OF  THE 

all  the  chances — Bill  kept  his  eyes  skinned,  and  whenever  he 
saw  a  stray  leg  or  head  he  drew  a  bead  on  it,  and  thug,  over 
tumbled  its  owner  every  time,  with  a  yell  of  rage. 

"  Whenever  they  attempted  to  carry  off  their  dead  that 
was  the  moment  we  took  the  advantage,  and  we  poured  it 
into  them  as  soon  as  they  rallied  for  that  purpose  with  telling 
effect.  We  wasted  no  shots ;  we  had  now  only  about  forty 
bullets  between  us,  and  the  miserable  cusses  seemed  thick  as 
ever. 

"The  sun  was  nearly  down  by  this  time,  and  at  dark 
they  did  not  seem  anxious  to  renew  the  fight  that  night,  but 
I  could  see  their  mounted  patrols  at  a  respectable  distance  on 
every  side  watching  to  prevent  our  escape.  I  took  advan- 
tage of  the  darkness  to  go  down  and  get  a  few  buffalo  chips 
to  cook  our  supper,  for  we  were  mighty  hungry,  and  to  change 
the  animals  to  where  they  could  get  a  little  more  grass,  though 
for  that  matter  it  was  nearly  up  to  a  man's  head  all  over  the 
bottom. 

"I  got  back  to  our  camp  on  top  without  any  trouble, 
when  we  made  a  little  fire  and  cooked  a  rabbit.  We  had  to 
go  without  water  and  so  did  the  animals,  but  we  did  not  mind 
the  want  of  it  so  much  ourselves,  but  pitied  the  mules  that 
had  none  since  we  broke  camp  in  the  morning.  It  was  no 
use  to  worry  about  it  though ;  the  nearest  water  was  in  the 
spring  at  the  Indian  camp,  and  it  would  be  certain  death  to 
attempt  to  get  there  without  their  seeing  us. 

"I  was  afraid  the  red  devils  would  fire  the  prairie  in  the 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  9£ 

morning,  and  endeavor  to  smoke  or  burn  us  out.  The  grass 
was  just  in  a  condition  to  make  a  lively  blaze,  and  we  might 
escape  the  flames  and  we  might  not. 

"We  watched  with  eager  eyes  for  the  first  gray  streaks  of 
dawn  that  would  usher  in  another  day — perhaps  the  last  for 
us. 

"  The  next  morning's  sun  had  scarcely  peeped  above  the 
horizon,  when,  -with  an  infernal  yell  the  Indians  broke  for 
the  Rock,  and  we  knew  some  new  project  had  entered 
their  heads. 

"  The  wind  was  springing  up  pretty  fresh,  and  nature 
seemed  to  conspire  with  the  red  devils  if  they  really  meant  to 
burn  us  out,  and  I  had  no  doubt  now  from  their  movements 
that  was  what  they  intended. 

"  The  darned  cusses  kept  at  such  a  respectable  distance 
from  our  rifles  that  it  chafed  us  to  know  that  we  could  not 
stop  the  infernal  throats  of  some  of  them  with  our  bullets? 
but  we  had  to  choke  our  rage  and  watch  events  closely. 

"I  took  occasion  during  the  lull  in  hostilities  to  crawl 
down  to  where  the  mules  were  and  shift  them  to  the  east  side 
of  the  "  Rock,"  where  the  wall  was  the  highest,  so  that  the 
flame  and  smoke  might  possibly  pass  by  them  without  so  much 
danger  as  on  the  exposed  other  side. 

"  I  succeeded  in  doing  this,  and  also  in  tearing  the  grass 
away  for  several  yards  around  the  animals,  and  was  just  start- 
ing back  when  Bill  called  out,  "  Damn  'em,  they've  fired  the 
prairie.' 


100  STORIES  OF  THE 

"  I  reached  the  top  of  the  Rock  in  a  moment,  and 
took  in  at  a  glance  what  was  coming. 

"  The  spectacle  for  a  short  interval  was  indescribably 
grand.  The  sun  was  shining  with  all  the  power  of  its  rays  on 
the  huge  clouds  of  smoke  as  it  rolled -down  from  the  north, 
tinting  it  with  glorious  a  crimson.  I  had  barely  time  to  get  un- 
der the  shelter  of  a  projecting  point  of  the  Rock  when  the  wind 
and  smoke  swept  down  to  the  ground,  and  instantly  we  were 
enveloped  in  the  darkness  of  midnight. 

"  We  could  not  discern  a  single  object;  neither  Indians, 
horses,  the  prairie,  or  sun — and  what  a  terrible  wind  !  I  have 
never  experienced  its  equal  in  violence  since. 

"  We  stood  breathless,  and  clinging  to  the  projection  of 
our  little  mass  of  rock  did  not  realize  the  fire  was  so  near,  un- 
til we  were  struck  in  the  face  by  the  burning  buffalo-chips 
that  were  carried  toward  us  with  the  rapidity  of  the  wind. 

"  I  was  really  scared ;  it  seemed  as  if  we  must  suffocate. 
But  we  were  saved  miraculously ;  the  sheet  of  flame  passed 
us  twenty  yards  away,  as  the  wind  fortunately  shifted  the 
moment  the  fire  reached  the  foot  of  the  Rock.  Yet  the 
darkness  was  so  perfect  that  we  did  not  see  the  flame ;  we 
only  knew  that  we  were  safe  as  the  clear  sky  greeted  us  be- 
hind the  dense  cloud  of  smoke. 

"Two  of  the  Indians  and  their  horses  were  caught  in 
their  own  trap,  and  perished  miserably.  They  had  attempted 
to  reach  the  east  side  of  the  Rock  where  the  mules  were, 
either  to  cut  them  loose  or  to  crawl  up  on  us  while  bewilder- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  101 

ed  in  the  smoke  if  we  escaped  death.  But  they  had  proceed- 
ed only  a  few  rods  on  their  little  expedition  when  the  terrible 
darkness  of  the  smoke-cloud  overtook  them. 

"  All  the  game  on  the  prairie  which  the  fire  swept  over 
was  killed,  too.  Only  a  few  buffaloes  were  visible  in  that 
region  before  the  fire,  but  even  they  were  killed. 

' '  The  path  of  this  horrible  passage  of  flames,  as  we  found 
out  afterward,  was  marked  all  along  with  the  crisp  and  black- 
ened carcasses  of  wolves,  coyotes,  turkeys,  grouse,  and  every 
variety  of  small  birds.  Indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  no  living  thing 
it  met  had  escaped  its  fury. 

"  The  fire  assumed  such  gigantic  proportions  and  moved 
with  such  rapidity  before  the  terrible  wind,  that  even  the 
Arkansas  river  did  not  check  its  path  for  a  moment,  but  we 
watched  it  carried  across  as  readily  as  if  it  had  not  been  in 
the  way. 

''This  fearful  prairie-fire  traveled  at  the  rate  of  eight 
miles  in  fifteen  minutes,  and  was  probably  the  most  violent 
in  its  features  that  ever  visited  that  country.  It  was  the  most 
sublime  picture  I  ever  looked  upon,  and  for  a  moment  made 
us  forget  our  perilous  position. 

'  *  My  first  thought  after  the  danger  from  the  fire  had 
passed  was  of  the  poor  mules,  I  crawled  down  to  where  they 
were  and  found  them  badly  singed,  but  not  seriously  hurt. 
I  thought  '  so  far  so  good ;'  our  mules  and  traps  were  all 
right,  and  we  were  all  right,  so  we  took  fresh  courage  and 


102  STORIES  OF  THE 

began  to  think  we  should  get  out  of  the  nasty  scrape  in  some 
way  or  other. 

"In  the  mean  time  the  Indians,  with  the  exception  of 
four  or  five  left  to  guard  the  Rock  so  we  could  not  escape, 
had  gone  back'to  their  camp  on  the  creek,  and  were  evident- 
ly concocting  some  new  stratagem  to  capture  or  kill  us. 

"We  waited  patiently  two  or  three  hours  for  the  devel- 
opment of  events,  snatching  a  little  sleep  by  turns  until  the 
sun  was  about  four  hours  high,  when  the  Indians  commenced 
their  infernal  howling  again,  and  we  knew  they  had  hit  upon 
something,  so  we  were  on  the  alert  in  a  moment  to  discover 
it  and  eucher  them  if  possible. 

"The  devils  this  time  had  tied  all  their  horses  together, 
covered  them  with  branches  of  trees  that  they  had  cut  on  the 
creek,  packed  all  the  lodge-skins  on  these,  and  then  driving 
the  living  breast-works  before  them  toward  us,  themselves 
followed  close  behind  on  foot. 

"They  kept  moving  slowly  but  surely  in  the  direction  "of 
the  '  Rock,'  and  matters  began  to  look  serious  for  us  once 
more. 

"Bill  put  his  Bhand  in  mine,  and  said,  'Jim,  now  by 
G — d  we  got  to  fight,  we  haint  done  nothing  yit ;  this  means 
business.' 

"  I  said  'you're  right,  Bill,  old  fellow;  but  they  can't 
get  us  alive.  Our  plan  is  to  kill  their  ponies,  and  make  the 
cusses  halt.' 

"  As  I  spoke,  Bill — who  was  one  of  the  best  shots  on 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  103 

the  plains — kind  'o  threw  his  eye  carelessly  along  the  bar'l  of 
his  rifle,  and  one  of  the  ponies  tumbled  over  on  the  black- 
ened sod.  One  of  the  Indians  ran  out  to  cut  him  loose,  as 
I  expected,  and  I  took  him  clean  off  his  feet  without  a  groan. 
Quicker  than  it  takes  me  to  tell  it,  we  had  stretched  out 
twelve  of  them  on  the  prairie,  and  we  made  it  so  hot  for 
them  that  they  got  out  of  range,  and  were  apparently  hold- 
ing a  council  of  war.  We  kept  watching  the  devils'  move- 
ments, for  we  knew  they  would  soon  be  up  to  some  con- 
founded trick 

"The  others  did  not  make  their  appearance  immediately 
from  behind  their  moving  breast-works,  so  we  both  fired  two 
shots  apiece  into  the  horses,  killing  three  of  them,  and 
throwing  the  whole  outfit  into  confusion. 

"We  soon  stopped  their  little  plan,  and  they  had  now 
only  the  dead  bodies  of  the  ponies  we  had  killed  to  protect 
them,  for  the  others  had  broken  loose  and  stampeded  off  to 
camp.  It  was  getting  pretty  hot  for  Mr.  Indian  now,  who 
was  on  foot,  and  in  easy  range  of  our  rifles.  We  cleaned 
out  one  or  two  more  while  they  were  gradually  pulling  them- 
selves out  of  range,  when  of  course,  we  had  to  stop  firing. 
The  Indians  started  off  to  their  camp  again  and  during  the 
lull  in  hostilities  took  an  account  of  stock,  we  found  we  had 
used  up  all  our  ammunition  except  three  or  four  loads,  and 
despair  seemed  to  hover  over  us  once  more. 

"In  a  few  moments  we  were  surprised  to  see  one  of  the 
warriors  come  out  alone  from  the  camp,  and  tearing  off  a 


104  STORIES  Of  THE 

piece  of  his  white  blanket,  boldly  walked  toward  the  <  Rock. ' 
Coming  up  within  hearing,  he  asked  if  we  would  have  a  talk 
with  him.  We  told  him  yes,  but  did  not  look  for  any  good 
results  from  it.  We  could  not  expect  anything  less  than  tor- 
ture if  we  allowed  ourselves  to  be  taken  alive,  so  we  deter- 
mined not  to  be  caught  in  any  trap. 

"We  knew  we  had  done  them  too  much  damage  to  expect 
any  mercy,  so  we  prepared  to  die  in  the  fight,  if  we  must 
die.  We  beckoned  the  young  buck  nearer  and  listened  to 
what  he  had  to  communicate.  He  said  they  were  part  of 
White  Buffalo's  band  of  Kiowas,  that  the  war  chief  who  was 
here  with  them  was  O-ton-son-e-var,  (a  herd  of  buffaloes), 
and  that  he  wanted  us  to  come  to  the  camp — that  we  were 
'  heap  brave ' — we  should  be  kindly  treated,  and  that  the 
tribe  would  adopt  us.  They  were  on  their  way  to  the  Sioux 
country  north  of  the  Platte — that  they  were  going  there  to 
steal  horses  from  the  Sioux.  They  expected  a  fight  and  wan- 
ted us  to  help  them.  Bill  and  myself  knew  the  darned 
Indians  too  well  to  swallow  their  chaff,  so  we  both  told  him 
we  could  not  think  of  accepting  their  terms — that  we  w£re 
on  our  way  to  the  Missouri,  and  meant  to  go  there  or  die  in 
the  attempt — that  we  did  not  fear  them,  the  white  man's  God 
would  take  care  of  us,  and  that  if  that  was  all  they  had  to 
talk  about  he  could  go  back,  and  tell  his  party  they  could 
commence  the  fight  again  as  soon  as  they  pleased. 

"  He  started  back,  and  before  he  had  reached  the  creek 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  105 

they  came  out  and  met  him,  had  a  confab,  and  then  began 
the  attack  on  us  at  once. 

"  We  made  each  of  our  four  loads  tell,  when  we  stood, 
at  bay,  almost  helpless,   and  defenseless ;  we  were  at  the 
mercy  of  the  savages,  and  they  understood  our  situation  as 
quickly  as  ourselves. 

"We  were  now  thrown  upon  our  last  resource — the 
boys  play  of  throwing  stones.-  As  long  as  we  could  find 
.detached  pieces  of  the  rock  they  did  not  dare  to  make  an 
assault,  and  while  we  were  still  wondering  what  next,  the 
white  flag  appeared  again  and  demanded  another  talk.  We 
knew  that  now  we  had  to  come  to  terms,  and  made  up  our 
minds  to  accept  anything  that  savored  of  reason,  and  our 
life,  trusting  to  the  future  to  escape  if  they  kept  us  as  pris- 
oners. 

"  '  The  Kiowasare  not  coyotes,  and  they  know  brave 
men,'  said  the  Indian ;  'we  will  not  kill  you,  though  the 
prairie  grass  is  red  with  the  blood  of  our  warriors  that  have 
died  by  your  hands.  We  will  give  you  a  chance  for  your 
lives,  and  let  you  prove  that  the  Great  Spirit  of  the  white 
man  is  powerful,  and  can  save  you.' 

"  '  Behold  ! '  said  the  Indian,  pointing  with  an  arrow  to 
a  solitary  cottonwood  on  the  banks  of  the  Arkansas,  a  mile 
or  more  away.  '  You  must  go  there,  and  one  of  you  shall 
run  the  knife-gauntlet  from  that  tree  two  hundred  steps  of 
the  chief  out  toward  the  prairie.  If  the  one  who  runs 
escapes,  both  are  free,  for  the  Great  Spirit  has  willed  it. 


106  STORIES  OF  THE 

O-ton-son-e-var*  has  said  it,  and  the  words  of  the  Kiowa  are 
true." 

"  'When  must  the  trial  take  place,'  said  I. 

"  '  When  the  sun  begins  to  shine  upon  the  western  edge 
of  the  Rock,'  replied  the  Indian. 

"  'Say  to  your  chief  we  accept  the  challenge  and  I  will 
be  ready,'  said  Bill,  motioning  the  young  warrior  away.  '  I 
am  sure  I  can  win,'  said  he,  '  and  can  save  both  our  lives. 
O-ton-son-e-var  will  keep  his  word,  I  know  him.' 

"'Bill,'  said  I,  'I  shall  run  that  race,  not  you;'  and 
taking  him  by  the  hand,  I  told  him  that  if  he  saw  I  was 
going  to  fail,  to  watch  his  chance,  and  in  the  excitement  of 
the  moment  mount  one  of  their  horses,  and  fly  toward 
Bent's  Fort ;  he  could  escape,  he  was  young — it  made  no 
difference  with  me — my  life  was  not  worth  much,  but  he  had 
all  before  him.' 

"  'No,'  replied  Bill,  my  heart  is  set  on  this;  I  traveled 
the  same  race  once  before  when  the  Apaches  got  me,  and 
their  knives  never  struck  me  once.  I  ask  this  favor  as  my 
life  for  I  have  a  preseentiment  that  it  is  only  I  that  can  win. 
I  know  how  to  get  every  advantage  of  them.  So  say  '  no 
more. ' 

"The  sun  had  scarcely  gilded  the  dark  line  of  rock  that 
juts  out  boldly  toward  the  western  horizon,  before  all  the 
warriors,  with  O-ton-son-e-var  at  their  head,  marched  silently 
toward  the  tree  and  beckoned  us  to  come. 


*  O-ton-son-e-var  in  fact  was  not  a  Kiowa  but  a  Cheyenne.     He  died  of  cholera 
on  the  head-waters  of  the  Smoky  Hill  in  1819.— H.  I. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  107 

"  Quickly  we  were  on  the  prairie  beside  them,  when  they 
opened  a  space,  and  we  walked  in  their  center  without 
exchanging  a  word.  There  were  only  thirty  left  of  that  band 
of  sixty  proud  warriors  who  had  commenced  the  attack  on  us 
the  day  before,  and  I  could  see  by  the  scowls  with  which 
they  regarded  us,  and  the  convulsive  clutching  at  their  knives 
by  the  younger  ones,  it  was  only  the  presence  and  power  of 
O-ton-son-e-var  that  prevented  them  from  taking  summary 
vengeance  upon  us. 

"As  soon  as  we  reached  the  tree,  O-ton-son-e-var  paced 
the  two  hundred  steps,  and  arranged  his  warriors  on  either 
side,  who  in  a  moment  stripped  themselves  to  the  waist,  and 
each  seizing  his  long  scalping  knife,  and  bracing  himself, 
held  it  high  over  his  head,  so  as  to  strike  a  blow  that  would 
carry  it  to  the  hilt  at  once. 

"  The  question  of  who  should  be  their  victim  was  settled 
immediately,  for  as  I  stepped  forward  to  face  that  narrow 
passage  of  probable  death,  the  chief  signaled  me  back  with 
an  impulsive  gesture  not  to  be  misunderstood,  and  pointing 
to  Bill,  told  him  to  prepare  himself  for  the  bloody  ordeal. 

"  I  attempted  to  protest,  and  was  urging  my  most  earnest 
words,  when  O-ton-son-e-var  said  he  had  decided  and  '  the 
young  man  must  run,'  adding,  that  '  even  a  drop  of  blood 
from  any  one  of  the  knives  meant  death  to  both.' 

"  Each  savage  stood  firm,  with  his  glittering  blade  reflect- 
ing the  rays  of  the  evening  sun,  and  on  each  hard,  cold  face, 
a  determination  to  have  the  heart's  blood  of  their  victim. 


108  STOK1ES  OF  THE 

"The  case  seemed  almost  hopeless — it  was  truly  a  race 
for  life,  and  as  Bill  prepared  himself  I  wished  ourselves  back 
on  the  '  Rock '  with  only  as  many  good  bullets  as  the 
number  of  devils  who  stood  before  us,  the  very  impersonation 
of  all  the  hatred  of  the  detestable  red  man. 

"  How  well  I  remember  the  coolness  and  confidence  of 
Bill.  He  could  not  have  been  more  calm  if  he  had  been 
stripping  for  a  foot  race  for  fun.  He  had  perfect  faith  in  the 
result,  and  when  O-ton-son-e-var  motioned  to  commence  the 
fearful  trial,  Bill  spoke  to  me,  but  I  could  not  answer,  my 
grief  was  too  great. 

"  He  stripped  to  his  drawers,  and,  standing  there,  naked 
from  the  belt  up,  was  a  picture  of  the  noblest  manhood  I 
ever  saw  as  he  waited  for  the  signal.  He  tightened  his  belt, 
and  stood  for  a  few  seconds  looking,  with  compressed  lips, 
down  the  double  row  of  savages,  as  they  stood  face  to  face 
gloating  on  their  victim.  It  seemed  like  an  age  to  me,  and 
when  the  signal  came  I  was  forced  by  an  irresistible  power 
to  look  upon  the  terrible  scene. 

"At  the  instant,  Bill  darted  like  a  flash  of  lightning 
from  the  foot  of  the  tree — on  rushed  the  devils  with  their 
gleaming  blades,  yelling  and  crowding  one  another,  and  cut- 
ting at  poor  Bill  with  all  the  rage  of  their  revengeful  nature. 
But  he  evaded  all  their  horrible  efforts,  now  tossing  a  savage 
here,  and  another  one  there,  now  almost  creeping  like  a 
snake  at  their  feet,  then  like  a  wild-cat  he  would  jump 
through  the  line  dashing  the  knives  out  of  their  hands,  till 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  /      109 

at  last,  with  a  single  spring,  he  passed,  almost  twenty  feet 
beyond  the  mark  where  the  chief  stood ! 

"We  were  saved,  and  when  the  disappointed  savages 
were  crowding  around  him,  I  rushed  in  and  threw  myself  in 
his  arms.  The  chief  motioned  the  impatient  warriors  away, 
and  with  sullen  footsteps  followed  them. 

"  In  a  few  moments  we  slowly  retraced  our  way  to  the 
'  Rock,'  where,  taking  our  mules,  we  pushed  on  in  the 
direction  of  the  Missouri.  We  camped  on  the  bank  of  the 
Arkansas  only  a  few  miles  from  the  terrible  'Rock'  that 
night,  but  while  we  were  resting  ar-ound  our  little  fire  of  buf- 
falo chips,  and  our  animals  were  quietly  nibbling  the  dried 
grass  at  our  feet,  we  could  still  hear  the  Kiowas  chanting  the 
death  song  while  they  buried  their  lost  warriors  under  the 
blackened  sod  of  the  prairie.'  " 


11 


110  STORIES  OF  THE 


A  TERRIBLE  TEN  MILES  RIDE. 


AN.  INCIDENT  IN  THE  INDIAN  WAR  OF  1864. 

In  all  the  annals  of  our  "  Border  Warfare,"  none  will 
go  down  to  history  more  conspicuous  than  the  events  which 
crowded  the  year  1864,  on  the  Great  Plains  of  Kansas, 
Nebraska  and  Colorado. 

Civilization  in  those  troublesome  times  still  cautiously 
hugged  the  extreme  eastern  belt  of  our  fair  young  empire, 
suspicious  of  the  unknown  beyond — that  immense  ocean  of 
grass,  stretching  interminably  toward  the  setting  sun. 

The  "  hunger  for  the  horizon  "  which  to-day  marks  broad 
trails  even  to  the  very  shadow  of  the  mountains,  with  long 
lines  of  white  covered  wagons,  patient  oxen,  or  jaded  mules, 
plodding  wearily  during  the  bright  hours  through  the  alkali 
dust  of  the  desert,  had  not  then  been  stimulated  by  marvel- 
ous stories  of  fair  acres  lying  so  bewitchingly  beautiful  be- 
yond the  "Big  Blue." 

The  magnificent  valley  of  the  "  Smoky  Hill,"  with  its 
rich  share  of  wooded  streams  and  fertile  uplands,  or  the  still 
more  elysian  expanse  watered  by  the  great  Arkansas — that  em- 
bryo granary  of  two  continents — were  simply  known  as  the 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  Ill 

region  through  which  passed  twin  inter-oceanic  trails — the 
Oregon  and  the  Santa  Fe — both  now  mere  memories. 

The  Indian  summer  then  as  now,  wrapped  the  distant 
hills  in  its  mellow  tints,  the  grass  grew  brown  and  rusty  as 
each  recurring  season  filled  its  measure,  and  the  autumn 
days  were  as  grand  as  Central  Kansas  ever  witnessed,  or  the 
golden  sunshine  ever  lighted  up.  The  mirage  wove  its  fan- 
tastic forms  in  the  early  spring  time,  and  the  chain  of  sand- 
hills that  follow  the  tortuous  windings  of  the  Arkansas  rested 
dark  and  misty — then  as  now — under  the  curtain  of  night. 
But  the  Satanic  genius  of  the  Indian  hatred  brooded  on  the 
beautiful  landscape,  and  the  harvest  of  the  unlabored  fields 
was  blood.  The  empire  of  the  plow  had  not  then  dawned, 
nor  the  march  of  the  homesteader  begun.  The  "  iron  trail" 
was  a  possibility,  but  he  was  a  visionist  who  argued  its  prob- 
ability. 

From  the  outskirts  of  Council  Grove,  to  the  crossing  of 
the  Cimarron,  the  echoes  of  the  prairie  were  awakened  by 
the  terrible  war-whoop  of  the  savage  as  he  wrenched  off  the 
reeking  scalp  of  his  hapless  victim. 

The  commerce  of  the  Great  Plains  over  that  broad  path 
through  the  wilderness — the  Santa  Fe  trail — was  at  its  height, 
and  immense  trains  rolled  day  after  day  toward  the  blue  hills 
which  guard  the  portals  of  New  Mexico.  Oxen,  mules,  and 
sometimes  horses,  tugged  wearily,  week  after  week,  through 
the  monotony  of  their  long  journey,  their  precious  freight 
ever  tempting  the  wily  nomads  to  plunder,  dissimulation,  and 


112  STORIES  OF  THE 

murder.  Pawnee  Rock,  Walnut,  Coon,  Ash,  and  Cow 
creeks,  were  mute  witnesses  of  a  score  or  more  battles  that 
reddened  the  blossomed  prairie  in  spring  time,  and  the  grass 
of  the  Pawnee,  Heath's  Branch  and  Buckner's,  were  resonant 
with  the  yell  of  the  Kiowas  and  Cheyennes,  who,  under  the 
pale  moonlight,  held  their  hideous  saturnalia  of  butchery.  On 
the  far-off  Wolf  and  Beaver  rivers,  where  to-day,  are  gather- 
ed under  the  guise  of  a  semi-civilization,  the  remnants  of 
those  once-powerful  tribes — the  scattered  lodges  are  decorat- 
ed with  the  scalp-locks  of  many  who  were  tempted  to  brave 
the  perilous  duty  of  freighters,  in  the  year  of  which  we  write. 

To  protect  the  trains  on  their  weary  route  through  the 
"desert" — as  the  whole  of  this  region  was  then  termed,  and 
confidently  believed  by  the  world  to  be — troops  were  station- 
ed— a  mere  handful,  relatively — at  intervals  on  the  ''great 
trail,"  to  escort  the  freighters,  and  United  States  mail  over 
the  most  exposed  and  dangerous  portions  of  the  route. 
Many  an  exciting  encounter  frequently  occurred,  and  many 
thrilling  incidents,  hair-breadth  escapes  and  "moving  acci- 
dents," belong  to  the  unwritten  chapters  of  the  history  of 
those  times,  the  book  of  which  is,  in  a  measure,  sealed ;  for 
like  the  ocean,  the  Great  Plains  tells  but  little  of  its  terrible 
record,  and  rarely  gives  up  its  dead. 

The  incident  which  is  the  subject  of  this  sketch,  is  as 
thrilling,  perhaps,  in  its  details,  and  as  marvelous  in  its  re- 
sults, as  any  that  have  come  down  to  us  in  the  history  of  these 
memorable  times. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  113 

It  deals  with  plain  facts,  and  of  men  who  are  now  living 
— one  of  whom,  the  principal  actor  in  the  scenes  to  be 
related,  is  known  favorably  all  over  the  state. 

Fort  Riley,  in  the  year  referred  to,  was  one  of  the  ex- 
treme permanent  frontier  military  posts.  Here  in  November, 
1864,  Capt.  Henry  Booth  was  stationed.  He  was  chief  of 
cavalry,  and  inspecting  officer  for  the  district  of  the  Upper 
Arkansas,  the  western  geographical  limit  of  which  extended 
to  the  foot  of  the  mountains. 

Early  in  the  month,  in  company  with  Lieut.  Hallowell, 
of  the  Ninth  Wisconsin  Battery,  he  received  orders  to  make 
a  tour  of  inspection  of  the  several  out-posts,  which  extended 
as  far  as  Fort  Lyon  in  Colorado. 

Salina  was  occupied  by  one  company  of  the  Seventh 
Iowa  Cavalry,  under  command  of  Captain  Hammer.  Where 
the  old  Leavenworth  stage  route  crossed  the  Smoky  Hill,  in  a 
beautifully  timbered  bend  of  that  stream,  was  a  little  log  and 
jacal  stockade,  commanded  by  Lieutenant  Ellsworth,  also  of 
the  Seventh  Iowa  Cavalry. 

To  this  comparatively  insignificant  post — insignificant 
only  in  its  appointments,  not  importance — the  commanding 
officer  gave  his  own  name,  which  the  county  of  Ellsworth 
will  perpetuate  in  history. 

At  the  crossing  of  the  Walnut,  on  the  broad  trail  to  the 
mountains,  were  stationed  three  hundred  unassigned  recruits 
of  the  Third  Wisconsin  Cavalry,  under  the  command  of 
Captain  Conkey.  This  was  one  of  the  most  important  points- 


114  STORIES  OF  THE 

of  observation  on  the  "Great  Overland  Route,"  for  near 
it,  passed  the  favorite  highway  of  the  Indians  on  their  yearly 
migrations  north  and  south,  in  the  wake  of  the  strange  ellipti- 
cal march  of  the  buffalo  to  far  beyond  the  Platte,  and  back 
to  the  sunny  knolls  of  the  Canadian. 

This  primitive  cantonment  grew  rapidly  in  its  strategi- 
cal aspect,  was  later  made  quite  formidable  defensively,  and 
named  Fort  Zarah  in  memory  of  the  youngest  son  of  Major- 
General  Curtis,  killed  by  guerrillas  somewhere  south  of  Fort 
Scott,  while  escorting  General  James  G.  Blunt,  of  Kansas 
fame. 

At  Fort  Lamed,  always  a  prominent  place  in  the  military 
history  of  the  Plains,  one  Company  of  the  Twelfth  Kansas, 
and  a  section  of  the  Ninth  Wisconsin  Battery,  commanded 
by  Lieutenant  Potter,  were  stationed.  From  these  troops — 
the  isolated  disposition  of  which  I  have  hurriedly  related — 
squads,  consisting  usually  of  from  a  dozen  to  twenty  men  or 
more,  as  the  case  might  be,  under  the  charge  of  a  corporal 
or  sergeant,  were  detailed  to  escort  the  mail  coach,  freighters, 
government  trains,  etc. 

In  the  story  of  these  little  detachments  of  brave  men, 
if  it  could  be  gleaned  in  all  its  thrilling  completeness,  the 
escutcheon  of  Kansas  would  be  made  to  shine  with  a  more 
glorious  radiance  than  even  now ;  but,  like  the  purple  mist 
that  sometimes  creeps  over  her  beautiful  valleys,  vailing  the 
splendor  of  the  landscape  on  the  other  side,  tradition  is  fast 
relegating  the  deeds  of  her  early  sons  to  oblivion,  and  we  are 


116  STORIES  OF  THE 

only  permitted  at  times,  in  some  sweet  vision"  of  memory,  to 
catch  glimpses  of  their  heroic  acts. 

On  the  morning  the  order  to  make  the  special  inspection 
of  the  out-posts  referred  to  was  received  at  Fort  Riley,  Cap- 
tains Booth  and  Hallowell  immediately  commenced  active 
preparations  for  their  extended  and  hazardous  drive  across 
the  Plains.  Rifles  and  pistols,  that  had  for  weeks  been  idly 
hanging  on  pegs  against  the  barrack  walls,  were  taken  down, 
carefully  examined  and  brushed  up  for  possible  service  in  the 
dreary  -Arkansas  Bottom,  and  camp  kettles  were  soon  busily 
sputtering  over  crackling  log  fires,  for  the  long  ride  beyond 
the  settlements  demanded  cooked  rations  for  many  a  weary 
day. 

All  these  preliminaries  arranged,  the  question  of  the 
means  of  transportation  for  the  two  officers  was  determined 
in  this  wise,  and,  as  the  sequel  will  show  curiously  enough, 
saved  the  lives  of  the  two  heroes  in  the  terrible  gauntlet  they 
were  destined  to  run. 

Captain  Hallowell  was  a  famous  whip,  and  prided  him- 
self upon  his  exceptionally  fine  turn-out  which  he  daily  drove 
around  the  picturesque  hills  of  Fort  Riley. 

"  Booth,"  said  he  that  morning,  "  let's  not  take  a  great 
lumbering  ambulance  on  this  trip.  If  you  will  get  a  good 
team  of  mules  from  the  Quartermaster,  I  will  furnish  my 
light  wagon  and  we  will  do  our  own  driving." 

"  All  right,"  replied  Booth,  "Til  get  the  mules." 

Captain  Hallowell,  therefore,  had  a  set  of  bows  fitted  to 


OLD  SANTA   FE  TRAIL.  117 

his  light  rig,  over  which  was  thrown  an  army  wagon-sheet, 
drawn  up  behind  with  a  cord,  similar  to  the  fashion  of  the 
average  emigrant  outfit  now  daily  to  be  seen  upon  the  roads  of 
our  western  prairie.  A  round  hole  was  thus  left  at  the  end, 
which  served  as  a  window  and,  as  will  be  seen  further  on, 
played  a  most  important  part  in  the  tragedy  in  which  this 
simply-covered  wagon  figured  so  conspicuously. 

Two  valises,  containing  their  dress  uniforms,  a  box  of 
crackers  and  cheese,  meat  and  sardines,  and  a  bottle  of  anti- 
snake  bite,  made  up  the  precious  freight  for  the  long  journey, 
and  in  the  clear  cold  of  the  early  morning  they  rolled  out  of 
the  gates  of  the  Fort,  escorted  by  Company  "  L,"  of  the 
Eleventh  Kansas,  commanded  by  Lieutenant  Jacob  Van 
Antwerp. 

Junction  City  in  those  days  was  in  reality  the  limit  of 
civilization,  although  Abilene,  with  its  solitary  log  cabin,  and 
Salina,  with  only  two,  made  great  pretentions  as  the  most 
westerly  .cities  of  the  Plains.  A  single  glance  at  the  "howl- 
ing wilderness "  surrounding  either  place,  however,  dissi- 
pated all  idea  of  possible  or  probable  future  metropolitan 
greatness ;  still  one  was  regaled  right  royally  even  then,  so 
far  as  the  cuisine  of  Tim  Hersey,  in  his  primitive  hut  on  the 
bank  of  the  Muddy,  was  concerned,  for  I  doubt  if  ever 
prairie  chicken,  buffalo  steak,  or  antelope  has  been  more 
deliciously  served  in  the  pretentious  hotel  of  1879,  at  that 
place,  where  now  the  thousands  who  annually  travel  moun- 


118  STORIES  OF  THE 

tain-ward  dine  with  service  of  silver  and  cut  glass,  and  wipe 
their  fingers  upon  damask  napkins. 

In  the  morning  our  little  command  reached  where  now 
Salina  nestles  so  beautifully  amidst  her  heavily  fringed 
streams;  the  long  stretch  of  magnificent  bottom  land  imme- 
diately west  of  that  town  was  covered  with  buffaloes,  and 
where  the  succulent  blue  stem,  keeping  pace  with  our  won- 
derful march  of  civilization,  bows  rythmically  to  the  summer 
breeze,  a  thick  mat  of  short  primitive  herbage  made  that 
whole  region  a  favorite  pasturage  for  those  huge  animals,  so 
rapidly  passing  away  to-day. 

The  rough  bluffs  that  border  Alum  and  Clear  Creeks,  in 
Ellsworth  county,  through  which  the  trail  wound  its  tortuous 
way,  were  always,  in  those  days,  a  favorite  haunt  of  the 
Indians,  and  many  a  solitary  straggler  has  met  his  death  from 
their  swift  arrows  in  what  are  now  called  the  "  Harker  Hills." 

Safely  through  these  dangerous  bluffs  and  across  the' 
beautiful  bottoms,  that  are  to-day  dotted  with  some  of  the 
most  picturesque  homes  in  Ellsworth  county,  marched  the 
little  army,  and  its  one  white  covered  ambulance. 

Not  an  incident  disturbed  the  quiet  of  the  grand  autumn 
day,  except  the  occasional  slaughter  of  a  buffalo  in  mere  wan- 
tonness now  and  then  by  some  straggling  soldier,  and  early 
in  the  afternoon  the  stockade  in  the  bend  of  the  Smoky  Hill 
was  reached. 

After  an  inspection  of  this  remote  little  garrison,  which 
was  found  in  excellent  spirits  and  condition,  the  line  of  march 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  119 

was  resumed  next  morning  for  Captain  Conkey's  camp  on  the 
Walnut. 

The  company  of  one  hundred  men,  acting  as  an  escort, 
was  too  formidable  a  number  to  invite  the  cupidity  of  the  In- 
dians, and  not  a  sign  of  one  was  seen  as  the  dangerous  flats 
of  Plum  Creek  and  the  rolling  country  beyond  were  succes- 
sively passed,  and  the  cantonment  on  the  Walnut  was  reached 
with  nothing  to  disturb  the  monotony  of  the  march. 

Captain  Conkey's  command  at  this  important  outpost 
were  living  in  a  rude  but  comfortable  sort  of  a  way  in  the 
simplest  of  dug-outs  constructed  along  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
and  the  officers,  a  little  more  in  accordance  with  military 
dignity,  in  tents  a  few  rods  in  rear  of  the  line  of  huts. 

A  stockade  stable  had  been  built,  with  a  capacity  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  horses,  and  sufficient  hay  had  been  put  up 
by  the  men  to  carry  the  animals  through  the  winter. 

The  Captain  was  a  brusque  but  kind  hearted  man,  and 
with  him  were  stationed  his  other  officers,  one  of  whom  was 
a  son  of  Admiral  Goldsborough,  of  naval  fame.  The  next 
morning  Captain  Booth  made  a  rigid  inspection  of  the  place, 
which  took  all  day,  as  an  immense  amount  of  property  had 
accumulated  for  condemnation,  and  when  evening  came  the 
papers,  books,  etc.,  were  still  untouched,  and  this  branch  of 
the  inspection  was  postponed  until  the  morning. 

In  the  evening,  while  sitting  around  the  camp-fire  dis- 
cussing the  war,  telling  stories,  etc.,  Captain  Conkey  said  to 
Booth  :  "  Captain,  it  won't  take  more  than  half  an  hour  in 


120  STORIES  OF  THE 

the  morning  to  inspect  the  papers  and  finish  up  what  you 
have  got  to  do,  why  don't  you  start  your  escort  out  early, 
and  then  they  won't  be  obliged  to  trot  after  the  ambulance, 
or  you  to  poke  along  with  them ;  you  can  then  move  out 
briskly  and  make  time  ?" 

Acting  upon  this  suggestion,  Captain  Booth  went  over 
the  creek  to  Lieutenant  Van  Antwerp's  camp  and  told  him 
he  need  not  wait  for  the  ambulance  in  the  morning,  but  to 
march  at  about  half-past  six  or  seven  o'clock  in  advance.  So 
at  daylight  the  escort  marched  out  agreeably  to  instructions, 
and  Booth  continued  his  inspection. 

It  was  found,  however,  that  either  Captain  Conkey  had 
misjudged  the  amount  of  work  to  be  done,  or  the  inspecting 
officer's  ability  to  do  it  in  a  certain  time,  and  nearly  three 
hours  elapsed  before  the  task  was  completed. 

At  last  everything  was  closed  up,  much  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  Lieutenant  Hallowell,  who  had  been  chafing  under 
the  delay  ever  since  the  troops  departed.  When  all  was  in 
readiness,  and  the  ambulance  drawn  up  in  front  of  the  com- 
manding officer's  tent,  Lieutenant  Hallowell  suggested  to 
Booth  the  propriety  of  taking  a  few  of  the  men  stationed  there 
with  them  until  they  overtook  their  own  escort,  which  must 
now  be  several  miles  on  the  trail  toward  Fort  Lamed.  So 
upon  this  Booth  mentioned  it  to  Captain  Conkey,  who  said  : 
"Oh!  there's  no  danger;  there  hasn't  an  Indian  been  seen 
around  here  for  more  than  ten  days." 

If  they  had  known  as  much  about  Indians  then  as  they 


OLD   SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  121 

afterward  learned,  Captain  Conkey's  response,  instead  of  as- 
suring them,  would  have  made  them  insist  upon  an  escort, 
which  Booth,  in  his  official  capacity,  had  the  power  to  order; 
but  they  were  satisfied,  and  concluded  to  push  on.  Jumping 
into  their  wagon,  Lieutenant  Hallowell  took  the  lines,  and 
away  they  went  rattling  over  the  old  log  bridge  that  used  to 
span  the  Walnut,  as  light  of  heart  as  if  riding  to  a  dance.  It 
was  a  clear,  cold  morning,  with  a  stiff  breeze  blowing  from  the 
northwest;  their  trail  was  frozen  hard  in  some  places,  and 
was  very  rough,  caused  by  the  travel  of  heavy  trains  when  it 
was  wet. 

Booth  sat  on  the  left  side  with  the  whip  in  his  hand,  oc- 
casionally striking  the  mules,  to  keep  their  speed.  Hallowell 
struck  up  a  tune — he  was  a  good  singer — and  Booth  joined 
in  as  they  rolled  along  oblivious  of  danger  as  though  they 
were  in  their  quarters  at  Riley. 

After  they  had  proceeded  some  distance  Hallowell  re- 
marked :  "The  buffalo  are  grazing  a  long  distance  from  the 
road  to-day — a  circumstance  I  think  bodes  no  good  " — he  had 
been  on  the  Elains  the  summer  before,  and  was  better  ac- 
quainted with  Indians  and  their  peculiarities  than  Captain 
Booth — but  the  latter  replied,  he  "  thought  it  was  because 
their  escort  had  gone  along  ahead,  and  had  probably  frighten- 
ed them  away."  The  next  mile  or  two  was  passed,  and  still 
they  saw  no  buffalo  between  the  trail  and  the  river,  but  nothing 
more  was  said  relating  to  this  suspicious  circumstance,  and 
they  rolled  rapidly  on. 
12 


122  STORIES  OF  THE 

When  about  five  or  six  miles  from  Zarah,  on  glancing 
toward  the  river,  to  the  left  and  front,  Booth  saw  something 
that  looked  strangely  like  a  drove  of  turkeys;  he  watched 
them  intently  for  a  few  moments,  when  they  rose  up  and  he 
discovered  they  were  horsemen.  He  grasped  Hallowell'sleft 
arm,  and  directed  his  attention  to  them,  said .  "  What's  that  ?" 
Hallowell  cast  a  hasty  look  to  the  point  indicated  and  replying 
"Indians!  by  George!"  immediately  turned  the  mules  and 
started  them  back  toward  Fort  Zarah  on  a  full  gallop. 

"  Hold  on,"  said  Booth,  "  maybe  its  part  of  our  escort?" 
"No,  no,"  replied  Hallowell,  "I  know  it's  Indians." 
"Well,"  replied  Booth,  "I'm  going  to  see,"  so  stepping 
out  on  the  foot  board,  and  holding  on  to  the  front  bow  he 
looked  back  over  the  top  of  the  wagon.     There  was  no  doubt 
now  that  they  were  Indians — they  had  fully  emerged  from 
the  ravines  in  which  they  had  hidden,  and  while  he  was  look- 
ing were  slipping  their  buffalo  robes  from   their  shoulders, 
taking  arrows  out  of  their  quivers,  drawing  up  their  spears 
and  making  ready  generally  for  a  red  hot  time. 

While  Booth  was  intently  watching  their  hostile  move- 
ments Hallowell  asked,  "  they  are  Indians,  a'int  they?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Booth,  'and  they  are  coming  like  blazes." 
"Oh,  my!"  said  Hallowell,  in  a  despairing  tone,    "I 
shall  never  see  poor  Lizzie  again  " — he  had  only  been  mar- 
ried a  few  weeks,  and  his  young  wife's  name  was  Lizzie. 

*  *  Never  mind  Lizzie, "  said  Booth,  '  let's  get  out  of  here ;  " 
although  he  was  as  badly  frightened  as  Hallowell,  but  had  no 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  123 

bride  at  Riley,  and  as  he  tells  it,  "  was  selfishly  thinking  of 
himself  and  escape." 

Promptly  in  response  to  Booth's  remark  came  back  from 
Hallowell,  in  a  voice  as  firm,  clear  and  determined  as  ever 
issued  from  mortal  throat : 

"  All  right,  you  do  the  shooting  and  I'll  do  the  driving," 
and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  snatched  the  whip  out 
of  Booth's  hand,  slipped  from  the  seat  to  the  front  of  the 
wagon  and  commenced  lashing  the  mules. 

Booth  then  crawled  back,  pulled  one  of  his  revolvers — 
he  had  two,  Hallowell  only  one — then  crept,  or  rather  fell  over 
the  "lazy-back"  of  the  seat  and  reached  the  hole  made  by 
the  puckering  of  the  sheet,  and  counted  the  Indians  ; — thirty- 
four  feather-bedecked,  paint-bedaubed,  and  vicious  a  looking 
outfit  as  ever  scalped  a  white  man,  were  coming  down  on 
them  like  a  hawk  upon  a  chicken. 

Booth  had  hardly  reached  his  place  at  the  back  of  the 
wagon  before  Hallowell — between  his  yells  to  the  mules — 
cries  out,  "how  far  are  they  off  now  Cap." — for  he  could  see 
nothing  in  the  rear  as  he  sat. 

Booth  answered  him  as  well  as  he  could,  and  Hallowell 
renewed  his  lashing  and  yelling. 

Noiselessly  the  Indians  gained,  for  they  had  not  uttered 
a  whoop  as  yet. 

Again  Hallowell  asked :  "How  far  are  they  off  now  Cap  ?" 
and  again  Booth  gave  him  an  idea  of  the  distance  between 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  125 

them  and  their  merciless  foe,  from  which  Hallowell  gathered 
inspiration  for  fresh  yells  and  still  more  vigorous  blows. 

Booth  was  sitting  on  a  box  containing  crackers,  sardines, 
etc.,  watching  the  approach  of  the  cut-throats,  and  saw  with 
fear  and  trembling  the  ease  with  which  they  gained  upon  the 
little  wagon ;  he  realized  then  that  safety  did  not  lie  in  flight, 
and  that  something  besides  mule's  heels  would  be  necessary  to 
preserve  his  scalp-locks. 

Once  more  Hallowell  inquired  the  distance  between  the 
pursuing  and  pursued,  but  before  Booth  could  answer,  two 
shots  were  fired  from  rifles  by  the  Indians  accompanied  by  a 
yell  that  was  enough  to  make  the  blood  curdle  in  one's  veins, 
and  no  reply  was  needed  to  acquaint  the  valorous  driver  that 
the  fiends  were  sufficiently  near  to  commence  making  trouble. 
He  yelled  at  the  mules,  and  down  came  the  whip  upon  the 
poor  animal's  backs — Booth  yelled,  for  what  reason  he  did 
not  know,  unless  to  keep  company  with  Hallowell — while  the 
wagon  flew  over  the  rough  road  like  a  patent  baby-jumper. 

The  bullets  from  the  two  rifles  passed  through  the  wagon 
cover  immediately  between  the  officers,  but  did  no  damage, 
and  almost  instantly  the  Indians  charged  down  upon  them, 
dividing  into  two  parties,  one  going  on  each  side,  delivering 
a  volley  of  arrows  into  the  wagon  as  they  rode  by. 

Just  as  they  darted  past  the  mules,  Hallowell  cried  out : 
"Cap.,  I'm  hit,"  and  turning  round  to  look  at  him,  Booth 
saw  an  arrow  sticking  in  his  head  above  his  right  ear;  his  arm 
was  still  plying  the  whip,  which  was  going  as  unceasingly  as 


126  STORIES  OF  THE 

the  sails  of  a  windmill,  and  his  yelling  only  stopped  long 
enough  to  answer  "not  much,"  in  response  to  Booth's  "does 
it  hurt,"  as  he  grabbed  the  arrow  and  pulled  it  out  of  his  head. 

The  Indians  by  this  time  had  passed  on,  and  then  circling 
back,  prepared  for  another  charge. 

Booth  had  already  fired  at  them  three  or  four  times,  but 
owing  to  the  distance,  the  jumping  of  the  wagon  and  the  "un- 
steadiness of  his  nerves" — as  he  declares — the  shots  had  not 
decreased  to  any  material  extent,  the  number  of  their  assail- 
ants. 

Down  came  the  red  devils  again !  dividing  as  before,  and 
•delivering  another  lot  of  arrows.  Hallowell  stopped  yelling 
long  enough  to  cry  out,  "I'm  hit  again  Cap." 

Looking  around  Booth  saw  an  arrow  sticking  in  Hallo- 
well's  head,  just  over  his  left  ear  this  time,  and  hanging  down 
his  back  like  an  ornament. 

He  snatched  it  out,  asked  Hallowell  if  it  hurt  him,  but 
received  the  same  answer  as  before — "No,  not  much." 

Both  were  yelling  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  the  mules 
were  jerking  the  wagon  along  at  a  fearful  rate — frightened 
nearly  out  of  their  wits  at  the  sight  of  the  Indians  and  the 
shouting  and  whipping  of  their  drivers.  Booth  crawling  to 
the  back  end  of  the  wagon  again  and  looking  out,  saw  the  In- 
dians moving  across  the  trail  preparing  for  another  charge. 
One  old  fellow  mounted  on  a  black  pony  was  jogging  along 
in  the  center  of  the  road  behind  them,  near  enough,  and  evi- 
dently intent  on  sending  an  arrow  through  the  puckered  hole 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  127 

of  the  wagon-sheet.  As  Booth  looked  out,  the  Indian  stopped 
his  pony  and  let  fly !  Booth  dodged  back  sideways,  the  arrow 
sped  on  its  course  and  came  whizzing  through  the  hole  and 
struck  the  black-walnut  ''lazy-back"  of  the  seat,  the  head 
sticking  way  through,  the  sudden  checking  causing  the  feath- 
ered end  to  vibrate  rapidly  with  a  vro-o-o-o-ing  sound;  with 
a  sudden  blow  Booth  struck  it,  breaking  the  shaft  from  the 
head,  leaving  the  latter  imbedded  in  the  wood.  • 

As  quick  as  he  could,  Booth  rushed  to  the  hole  and  fired 
at  his  aged  opponent  but  failed  to  hit  him ;  while  he  was 
trying  to  get  another  shot  at  him,  an  arrow  came  flying  from 
the  left  side  and  struck  him  on  the  inside  of  the  elbow,  hit- 
ting the  nerve  or  crazy-bone,  which  so  benumbed  his  hand 
and  arm  that  he  could  not  hold  on  to  the  revolver  and  it 
dropped  from  his  hand  into  the  road  with  one  load  still  in  its 
chamber.  Just  then  the  mules  gave  an  extra  jump  which 
jerked  the  wagon  nearly  from  under  him,  and  he  fell  on  the 
end-gate  evenly  balanced  with  his  hands  sprawling  outside 
attempting  to  clutch  at  something  to  save  himself. 

At  this  the  Indians  gave  a  terribly  yell — of  exultation 
probably,  supposing  Booth  was  going  to  fall  out,  but  he 
didn't — he  caught  hold  of  one  of  the  wagon-bows  and  pulled 
himself  in  again,  terribly  scared.  It  was  a  "close  call"  and 
no  mistake. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  Hallo  well  had  not  been  neg- 
lected by  the  incarnate  fiends;  about  a  dozen  of  them  had 


128  STORIES  OF  THE 

devoted  their  time  and  attention  to  him,  but  he  had  not 
flinched.  Just  as  Booth  had  regained  his  equilibrium  and 
drawn  his  second  revolver  from  its  holster,  Hallowell  yelled, 
"Right  off  to  the  right!  Cap.,  quick  !" 

Booth  tumbled  over  the  back  of  the  seat,  clutching  at  a  bow 
to  steady  himself,  and  '  right  off  to  the  right"  was  an  Indian 
just  letting  fly  at  Hallowell ;  the  arrow  struck  the  side  of  the 
wagon,  Booth  at  the  instant  fired  at  the  Indian — missed  him 
of  course — but  he  was  badly  scared,  and  throwing  himself  on 
the  opposite  side  of  his  pony,  scooted  off  over  the  prairie. 

Back  over  the  seat  Booth  piled  again  to  guard  the  rear, 
where  he  found  a  young  buck  riding  close  behind  and  to  the 
right  of  the  wagon,  his  pony  following  the  trail  made  by  the 
ox-drivers  in  walking  beside  their  teams.  Putting  his  arm 
around  one  of  the  wagon-bows,  to  prevent  his  being  jerked 
out,  Booth  quietly  stuck  his  revolver  through  the  hole,  but 
before  be  could  fire,  the  Indian  flopped  over  on  the  side  of 
his  pony,  and  all  that  could  be  seen  of  him  was  his  arm 
around  the  pony's  neck,  and  from  the  knee,  down  one  leg. 
Booth  did  not  fire  but  waited  for  him  to  come  up — he  could 
almost  hit  his  pony's  head  with  his  hand,  so  close  was  he 
running — he  struck  at  it  several  times  but  the  Indian  kept 
him  close  up  by  whipping  him  on  the  opposite  side  of  his 
neck ;  presently,  the  Indian's  arm  began  to  work,  and  Booth 
looking,  saw  that  he  had  fixed  an  arrow  in  his  bow  under 
the  pony's  shoulder,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of  shooting  at 
him,  with  the  head  of  the  arrow  not  three  feet  from  his  breast 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  129 

as  he  leaned  out  of  his  hole  in  the  wagon-sheet.  Booth 
struck  frantically  at  the  arrow,  dodged  back  into  the  wagon, 
up  came  the  Indian,  but  Booth  went  out  again,  for  he  realized 
that  the  Indian  had  to  be  got  away  from  there,  as  he  would 
make  trouble.  Whenever  Booth  went  out,  down  went  the 
Indian,  up  he  rose  in  a  moment  again,  but  Booth  fearing  to 
risk  himself  with  his  head  and  breast  exposed  at  this  game  of 
"hide  and  go  seek"  drew  back  as  the  Indian  went  down  the 
third  time,  and  in  a  second  up  he  came  again,  but  this  was 
once  too  often.  Booth  had  only  gotten  partly  in  and  had  not 
dropped  his  revolver,  so  as  the  Indian  rose,  instinctively,  and 
without  taking  aim,  fired. 

The  ball  struck  him  in  the  left  nipple— he  was  naked  to 
the  waist — the  blood  spirted  out  of  the  wound  almost  to  the  wa- 
gon, his  bow  and  arrow  and  lariat-rope  dropped,  he  fell  back 
on  the  pony's  rump  and  rolling  from  there  heavily  on  the 
ground,  with  a  convulsive  straightening  of  his  legs  and  a  char- 
acteristic Ugh !  lay  as  quiet  as  a  stone. 

"I've  killed  one  of  them  Hallowell!"  yelled  out  Booth, 
as  the  Indian  tumbled  off  his  pony. 

"Bully  for  you !"  came  back  the  response,  and  then  he 
continued  his  shouting  and  the  blows  of  that  tireless  whip  fell 
incessantly  upon  the  mules. 

All  the  Indians  that  were  in  the  rear  and  saw  the  young 
warrior  fall,  rode  up  to  him,  circled  around  his  dead 
body,  uttering  the  most  unearthly  yells,  but  different  from 
anything  they  had  given  vent  to  before. 


130  STOXJES  OF  THE 

Hallowell  from  the  cramped  position  in  front,  noticed 
the  change  in  their  tone  and  asked  :  "What  are  they  doing 
now,  Cap  ?" 

Booth  explained  to  him,  and  Hallowell's  response  was 
more  vociferous  yelling  and  harder  blows  upon  the  poor  gal- 
loping mules. 

Booth  was  still  'sitting  upon  the  cracker-box  watching 
the  maneuvers  of  the  Indians,  when  suddenly,  Hallowell 
sang  out:  "Right  off  to  the  right,  Cap.,  quick!"  which 
startled  him,  and  whirling  around  instantly,  he  saw  an  In- 
dian within  three  feet  of  the  wagon  with  his  bow  and  arrow 
almost  ready  to  shoot;  there  was  no  time  to  get  over  the  seat, 
and  as  he  could  not  fire  by  Hallowell,  he  cried  out :  "Hit 
him  with  the  whip !  hit  him  with  the  whip  ! "  The  Lieuten- 
ant suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  simply  diverted  one  of 
the  blows  intended  for  the  mules,  and  struck  the  Indian  fair 
across  the  face. 

The  whip  had  a  knot  on  the  end  to  keep  it  from  unrav- 
eling, and  this  knot  must  have  hit  the  Indian  in  the  eye,  for 
he  dropped  his  bow,  put  his  hands  up  to  his  face,  rubbed  his 
eyes  and  digging  his  heel  into  the  left  side  of  his  pony,  was 
soon  out  of  reach  of  a  revolver,  but  nevertheless,  he  was  giv- 
en a  parting  shot — a  sort  of  salute — for  it  was  harmless. 

A  terrific  yell  from  the  rear  at  this  moment  caused  Booth 
to  look  around,  and  Hallowell  to  inquire:  "  What's  the  mat- 
ter now?"  "They  are  coming  down  upon  us  like  light- 
ning," replied  Booth;  and,  sure  enough,  those  who  had  been 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  131 

prancing  around  their  dead  comrade  were  tearing  down  to- 
ward the  wagon  like  a  whirlwind,  and  with  a  whoop  more 
deafening  and  hideous  than  any  that  had  yet  preceded  it. 

Hallowell  yelled  louder  than  ever  and  lashed  the  mules 
more  furiously  still,  but  the  Indians  gained  upon  them  as 
easily  as  a  blooded  racer  on  a  common  farm  plug.  Separat- 
ing as  before,  and  passing  on  each  side  of  the  wagon,  the  In- 
dians delivered  another  volley  as  they  charged  by. 

As  this  charge  was  made  Booth  drew  away  from  the 
hole  in  the  rear  of  the  wagon-cover  and  turned  his  seat  to- 
ward the  Indians,  but  forgot  in   the  excitement,  that  in  the 
manner  he  was  sitting — his  back  pressed  against  the  sheet- 
his  body  was  plainly  outlined  probably  on  the  outside. 

When  the  Indians  rushed  by  and  delivered  their  storm 
of  arrows,  Hallowell  cried  out,  "I'm  hit  again,  Cap,"  and 
Booth  in  turning  around  to  go  to  his  relief  felt  something  pull- 
ing at  him ;  glancing  over  his  left  shoulder  to  learn  the  cause 
of  the  trouble,  he  discovered  an  arrow  sticking  into  him  and  out 
through  the  wagon  sheet;  with  a  jerk  of  his  body  he  tore  it 
loose,  and  going  to  Hallowell  asked:  "Where  are  you  hit 
now?"  "In  the  back,"  he  answered;  where  looking,  Booth 
saw  an  arrow  sticking,  the  shaft  extending  under  the  "lazy- 
back  "  of  the  seat.  Taking  hold  of  it,  Booth  gave  it  a  pull, 
but  Hallowell  squirmed  so  that  he  desisted.  "Pull  it  out! 
Pull  it  out !  "  he  cried.  Booth  thereupon  took  hold  of  it 
again,  and,  giving  a  jerk  or  two,  out  it  came.  He  was  thor- 
oughly frightened  as  he  saw  it  leave  the  Lieutenant's  body, 


132  STORIES  OF  THE 

for  it  seemed  to  have  entered  at  least  six  inches,  and  looked 
as  if  it  must  be  a  dangerous  wound ;  but  Hallowell  did  not 
cease  belaboring  the  mules,  and  his  yells,  accompanying  the 
blows,  rang  out  as  clear  as  before. 

After  pulling  out  the  arrow,  Booth  turned  again  to  the 
opening  in  the  rear  of  the  wagon  to  see  what  new  tricks  the 
miscreants  were  up  to,  when  Hallowell  yelled  again  :  "  Right 
off  to  the  left  Cap.,  quick  !  " 

Rushing  to  the  front  of  the  wagon  as  soon  as  possible, 
Booth  saw  an  Indian  in  the  act  of  shooting  at  the  Lieutenant 
from  the  left  side  and  about  ten  feet  away.  The  last  revolver 
was  empty,  but  something  had  to  be  done  at  once,  so  leveling 
the  weapon  at  him,  Booth  yelled  "  Bang,  you  son-of-a-gun  !" 

Down  went  the  Indian,  rap,  rap,  went  his  knees  against 
the  pony's  sides,  and  away  he  flew  over  the  prairie. 

Back  over  the  seat  Booth  tumbled  and  began  to  load  his 
revolver.  The  cartridges  they  had  in  those  days  were  the 
old-fashioned  paper  kind,  and  biting  off  the  end  of  one  he 
would  endeavor  to  pour  the  powder  into  the  chamber,  but 
the  wagon  was  tumbling  from  side  to  side  and  jumping  up 
and  down  as  it  flew  over  the  rough  trail,  that  more  of  the 
powder  went  into  the  bottom  of  the  wagon  than  into  the  re- 
volver. 

Just  as  he  was  inserting  a  ball  into  the  chamber,  Hallo- 
well  cried  out  again :  "  Right  off  to  the  left,  Cap., quick  !  "  Over 
the  seat  Booth  went  once  more  and  there  was  another  Indian 
with  his  bow  and  arrow  in  his  hand  all  ready  to  pinion  the 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  133 

Lieutenant;  pointing  his  revolver  at  him,  Booth  yelled  as  he 
had  at  the  other,  but  the  Indian  had  evidently  noticed  the 
failure  to  fire  at  the  first,  and  concluded  that  there  were  no 
more  loads  left,  so,  instead  of  taking  a  hasty  departure  as  his 
comrade  had  done,  he  grinned  a  demoniacal  grin  and  en- 
deavored to  fix  the  arrow  into  his  bow. 

Thoroughly  frightened  now  at  the  aspect  things  were  as- 
suming, Booth  rose  up  in  the  wagon  and  grasping  hold  of 
a  bow  with  his  left  hand,  seized  the  revolver  by  the  muzzle 
and  with  all  the  force  he  could  muster  hurled  it  at  the  impu- 
dent brute. 

It  was  a  new  Remington  octagon  barrel  with  sharp  cor- 
ners, and  when  it  was  thrown  turned  in  the  air  striking  the 
Indian  muzzle  first  on  the  ribs,  cutting  a  long  gash. 

"Ugh  !  V  grunted  the  Indian,  and  dropping  his  bow  and 
spear,  he  flung  himself  over  the  side  of  the  pony  and  away  he 
went  over  the  prairie  to  bother  them  no  more. 

Only  the  one  revolver  left  now  and  that  empty,  and  the 
Indians  still  howling  around  the  apparently  doomed  men  like 
so  many  demons. 

After  he  had  driven  the  Indian  off,  Booth  fell  over  the 
seat,  picked  up  the  empty  revolver  and  attempted  to  load  it, 
but  before  he  could  bite  off  a  cartridge  Hallowell  yelled, 
"I'm  hit  again,  Cap." 

"Where  are  you  hit  now?"  asked  the   gallant  Captain. 

"  In  the  hand,"  replied  Hallowell.      , 

Looking  around,  Booth  saw  that  his  right  arm  was  ply- 
13 


134  STORIES  OF  THE 

ing  the  whip  to  the  now  laggard  mules,  and  sticking  through 
the  fleshy  part  of  his  thumb  was  an  arrow,  which  was  flop- 
ping up  and  down  as  his  arm  rose  and  fell  in  its  ceaseless 
and  evidently  tireless  efforts  to  keep  up  the  speed  of  the  al- 
most exhausted  animals. 

"  Let  me  pull  it  out,"  said  Booth. 

"No,  never  mind,"  replied  Hallowell;  "Can't  stop! 
Can't  stop ! "  and  up  and  down  went  his  arm,  and  flip-flap 
went  the  arrow  with  it,  until  finally  it  tore  through  the  flesh 

and  fell  to  the  ground. 

Along  they  bowled,  the  Indians  yelling  and  the  occu- 
pants of  the  wagon  defiantly  answering  them,  while  Booth 
was  still  making  a  desperate  but  vain  effort  to  load  the  re- 
volver. In  a  few  moments  Hallowell  shouted,  "they  are 
crowding  the  mules  into  the  sunflowers !  " 

Along  the  sides  of  the  trail  huge  sunflowers  had  grown 
the  previous  summer  and  now  their  dry  stalks  stood  as  thick 
as  a  cane-brake,  and  if  the  wagon  once  got  among  them  the 
mules  could  not  keep  up  their  gallop  and  would  soon  be 
compelled  to  stop. 

The  Indians  seemed  to  realize  this  fact,  and  one  huge 
fellow  kept  riding  beside  the  off  mule  and  throwing  his  spear 
at  him  and  then  jerking  it  back  with  the  thong,  one  end  of 
which  was  fastened  to  his  wrist,  the  other  to  the  shaft  of  the 
spear.  The  mule  on  the  side  next  to  the  Indian  was  jumping 
frantically  and  pushing  the  near  mule  from  the  road. 

Stepping  out  on  the  foot-board  and  holding  on  to  a  bow 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  135 

with  one  hand,  Booth  commenced  kicking  the  mule  vigorously; 
Hallowell,  meanwhile,  was  pulling  on  one  line,  whipping  and 
yelling,  so  together  they  forced  the  animals  back  into  the 
trail  and  away  they  shot  at  the  top  of  their  speed. 

The  Indian  kept  close  to  the  mules,  and  Booth  made 
several  attempts  to  scare  him  by  pointing  his  revolver  at  him, 
but  he  "  would  not  scare,"  so  he  threw  it  at  him,  missed  the 
Indian,  but  struck  the  pony  just  behind  the  rider's  leg,  which 
started  the  latter  off  over  the  prairie,  thus  removing  the  im- 
mediate peril  from  that  source. 

They  were  now  absolutely  without  firearms — nothing 
left  but  their  sabers  and  valises,  and  the  Indians  soon  learn- 
ing that  there  were  no  more  shots  to  be  feared  came  closer 
and  closer. 

In  turn  the  two  sabers  were  thrown  at  them  as  they  came 
almost  within  striking  distance ,  then  followed  the  scabbards 
after  the  yelling  fiends  as  they  surrounded  the  wagon;  some 
rode  immediately  in  front  of  the  mules,  impeding  their  prog- 
ress, with  the  most  infernal  noises  and  attempts  to  spear 
them  (the  Indians  had  evidently  exhausted  all  their  arrows), 
and  the  camp  on  the  Walnut  still  a  mile  and  a  half  away. 

There  was  nothing  left  for  our  luckless  travelers  to  do 
but  whip  and  kick  the  mules  and  yell,  all  of  which  they  did 
most  lustily,  Hallowell  sitting  as  immovable  as  the  Sphinx, 
except  his  right  arm,  which,  from  the  time  he  had  started,  had 
not  ceased,  and  Booth  kicking  the  poor  animals  and  shouting 
in  concert  with  their  importunate  foe.  Looking  casually 


136  STORIES  OF  THE 

4» 

back  over  the  seat  Booth  saw  twelve  or  fifteen  Indians  com- 
ing up  behind  with  their  spears  all  unstrung  ready  for  action, 
and  he  felt  that  something  must  be  done,  and  that  right 
speedily,  to  divert  them,  for  if  these  added  their  number 
already  surrounding  the  wagon,  the  chances  were  they  would 
succeed  in  forcing  the  mules  from  the  trail,  and  the  end  of 
the  tragedy  soon  come. 

Glancing  around  the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  in  his  despair, 
for  some  kind  of  a  weapon  with  which  to  resist  them,  Booth's 
eye  rested  upon  the  valises  containing  the  dress  suits,  and 
snatching  his,  threw  it  out,  while  their  pursuers  were  yet  some 
four  or  five  rods  behind. 

The  Indians  noticed  these  new  tricks  with  a  yell  of  ap- 
parent satisfaction,  and  as  soon  as  they  reached  the  valise 
they  all  dismounted,  and  one  of  them  grabbed  it  by  the  two 
handles  and  attempted  to  open  it;  failing  in  this,  another 
drew  a  long  knife  from  under  his  blanket  and,  ripping  up  one 
side,  thrust  in  his  hand,  and  pulling  out  a  sash  began  wind- 
ing it  around  his  head  (as  a  negro  woman  winds  a  bandana), 
letting  the  tassels  hang  down  his  back. 

While  he  was  thus  amusing  himself,  another  had  pulled 
out  a  dress  coat,  a  third  a  pair  of  drawers,  still  another  a 
shirt,  all  of  which  they  individually  proceeded  to  put  on, 
meanwhile  dancing  around  and  yelling. 

Booth  reported  to  Hallowell  how  the  sacrifice  of  his  valise 
had  Averted  the  Indians,  and  said:  "I'm  going  to  throw 
out  yours." 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  137 

"All  right,"  he  replied,  "let  her  go,  all  we  want  is 
time. "  So  out  it  went  and  shared  the  same  fate  as  the  other. 

As  long  as  the  Indians  were  busy  helping  themselves  to 
the  wardrobes  contained  in  the  two  valises,  they  were  not 
bothering  our  horses,  and  as  Hallowell  had  said,  "  all  they 
wanted  was  time." 

But  while  the  diversion  was  going  on  in  the  rear,  the 
devils  in  front  and  on  each  side  were  still  attempting  to  force 
the  mules  from  the  road  by  rushing  at  them  and  yelling,  and 
brandishing  their  spears;  none  of  them  had  as  yet  tried  to 
kill  them,  evidently  thinking  they  could  murder  the  two 
offirers  and  secure  the  animals  alive — a  prize  too  valuable  for 
an  Indian  to  lose.  But  as  they  were  now  drawing  near  the 
creek,  on  the  opposite  bank  of  which  the  camp  was  situated, 
and  the  chance  of  escape  grew  brighter,  one  miserable  cut- 
throat of  the  band  conceived  the  idea,  apparently,  of  killing 
one  of  the  mules,  for  he  charged  down  on  the  wagon,  rode 
close  to  one  and  discharging  his  arrow  at  him,  struck  him  on 
the  front  leg  severing  a  small  artery,  from  which  the  blood 
spurted  by^erks.  The  mules  had  no  blinds  on  their  bridles, 
and  the  one  hurt,  seeing  the  blood,  it  frightened  him  so  that 
he  gave  a  terrific  jump  and  started  off  at  a  break-neck  gait, 
dragging  the  other  mule  and  the  wagon  after  him,  so  all  the 
occupants  had  to  do  now  was  to  pound  and  kick  the  unin. 
jured  one  to  make  him  keep  up. 

This  fresh  spurt  of  speed  had  carried  them  away  from  the 
Indians,  but  Booth  and  Hallowell  knew  that  the  animals  could 


138  STORIES  OF  THE 

not  continue  it,  and  they  became  convinced  that  the  Indians 
now  meant  to  kill  one  or  both  of  the  mules  in  order  to  stop 
them. 

The  lull  caused  by  the  mules  outstripping  the  Indians 
gave  our  almost  despairing  heroes  time  to  talk  the  matter  over. 

Hallowell  said  he  did  not  propose  to  be  captured  and 
taken  to  Medicine  Lodge  Creek,  or  some  other  place,  and 
then  butchered  or  burned  at  the  leisure  of  the  Indians.  He 
said  to  Booth:  "If  they  kill  a  mule  and  so  stop  us,  let's 
kick,  strike,  throw  clods  or  anything,  and  compel  them  to 
kill  us  on  the  spot."  So  they  agreed,  if  worse  came  to  the 
worst,  to  stand  back  to  back  and  fight  them  off. 

This  may  seem  overdrawn  to  many  of  our  readers  of  to- 
day, but  if  they  have  ever  seen  the  remains  of  men  and  women 
hacked  and  mutilated  as  the  writer  has,  and  realize  as  fully  as 
the  occupants  of  the  little  wagon  did  that  such  a  fate  awaited 
them  in  the  event  of  capture,  they,  too,  would  have  courted 
death,  sudden,  certain  and  immediate,  in  preference  to  that 
other,  more  remote  but  just  as  sure,  and  far  more  terrible. 

During  the  discussion  of  the  situation  by  "Booth  and 
Hallowell,  the  speed  of  the  mules  had  slackened  but  little  ; 
the  arm  of  the  latter  still  plied  that  effective  lash,  and  they 
drew  perceptibly  nearer  the  camp,  where  there  were  men 
enough  to  rescue  them  if  they  could  only  be  made  aware  of 
their  situation,  and  as  they  caught  the  first  glimpse  of  the 
tents  of  the  officers  and  dug  outs  of  the  men  hope  sprang  up 
within  them,  and  life  hanging,  as  it  were,  by  a  slender  cord, 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  139 

seemed  more  precious  than  ever.  In  the  hope  of  arousing 
and  attracting  the  attention  of  some  of  the  soldiers  they  com- 
menced yelling  again  at  the  top  of  their  voices ;  the  mules 
were  panting  like  a  hound  on  the  chase ;  wherever  the  har- 
ness touched  them  it  was  as  white  with  lather  as  the  inside  of 
a  shaving  cup,  and  they  could  not  keep  on  their  feet  much 
longer. 

Would  they  hold  out  until  the  bridge  was  reached  ?  pro- 
vided they  escaped  the  spears  of  the  Indians.  The  whipping 
and  kicking  had  little  effect  on  them  now ;  they  still  continued 
in  their  gallop,  but  it  was  slower  and  more  labored  than  be- 
fore, and  as  the  Indians  fell  back  to  make  fresh  charges,  the 
mules  also  slackened  their  gait,  and  it  became  almost  impos- 
sible to  accelerate  their  motion. 

Hallowell  kept  his  whip  going  mechanically,  and  Booth 
continued  his  attention  to  the  little  near  mule  with  his  foot, 
but  the  worn  out  animal  began  to  evince  unmistakable  signs 
of  breaking  down,  and  longing  eyes  were  cast  toward  the 
camp,  now  so  near. 

,  The  Indians  that  had  torn  open  the  satchels  had  not 
come  up,  and  did  not  seem  inclined  to  further  continue  the 
fight,  but  there  were  still  a  sufficient  number  of  the  fiends 
pursuing  to  make  it  interesting,  but  they  could  not  succeed 
in  spearing  the  mules,  as  at  each  attempt  the  plucky  little 
animals  would  jump  sideways  or  forward  and  evade  the  im- 
pending blow. 


140  STORIES  OF  THE 

One  gigantic  fellow  followed  them  with  a  determination 
and  valor  worthy  of  a  better  cause — the  others  seeming  now 
to  have  almost  abandoned  the  idea  of  capturing  either  men  or 
animals,  but  this  persistent  warrior,  in  all  probability,  was 
related  to  the  "young  buck"  Booth  had  killed,  and  was 
thirsting  for  revenge ;  at  any  rate,  he  was  loth  to  give  up  the 
chase,  and  followed  the  wagon  to  within  a  few  rods  of  the 
bridge,  long  after  the  other  Indians  had  fallen  back  entirely. 

The  little  log  bridge  was  now  reached ;  their  pursuers 
had  all  retreated,  but  the  valorous  Hallowell  kept  the  mules 
at  the  same  galloping  gait.  This  bridge  was  constructed  of 
half-round  logs,  and  of  course  was  extremely  rough,  the  wagon 
bounded  up  and  down  enough  to  shake  the  teeth  out  of  one's 
head,  as  the  mules  went  flying  over  the  rude  structure.  Booth 
called  out  to  Hallowell,  "  No  need  to  drive  so  fast  now,  the 
Indians  have  all  left,"  but  he  answered  : 

"  I  ain't  going  to  stop  until  1  get  across,"  and  down  came 
the  whip,  on  sped  the  mules,  not  breaking  their  gallop  until 
they  pulled  up  in  front  of  Captain  donkey's  tent.  Booth 
could  not  stand  the  fearful  bounding  of  the  wagon  as  it  roll- 
ed across  the  bridge,  so  he  crawled  out  behind  and  walked 
up  to  the  quarters. 

The  rattling  of  the  wagon  on  the  bridge  was  the  first  in- 
timation the  command  had  of  its  returning.  The  sentinel  on 
post  had  been  walking  his  beat  on  the  east  side  of  the  long 
stockade  stable  to  keep  out  of  the  cold  northwest  wind,  and 
had  heard  nothing  of  the  yelling  and  talking  until  they  struck 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  141 

the  bridge,  when  he  came  around  the  end  of  the  stable,  saw 
the  wagon  and  two  or  three  of  the  Indians  behind,  fired  his 
carbine  and  thus  aroused  the  camp. 

The  officers  came  running  out  of  their  tents,  the  men 
poured  out  of  their  dug-outs  like  a  lot  of  ants,  and  the  little 
wagon  and  its  occupants  were  soon  surrounded  by  their 
friends.  Captain  Conkey  ordered  the  bugler  to  sound  ''boots 
and  saddles,"  and  in  less  than  ten  minutes  ninety  troopers 
were  mounted,  and,  with  the  Captain  at  their  head,  started 
after  the  Indians. 

Lieutenant  Hallowell  reached  the  line  of  c  fficer's  tents 
before  Booth,  and,  as  the  latter  came  up,  was  attempting  to 
rise  so  as  to  get  out,  but  each  effort  only  resulted  in  his  fall- 
ing back.  It  was  thought  at  first  his  wounds  were  the  cause, 
and  when  asked:  "  What's  the  matter;  can't  you  get  out?" 
replied,  "  I  don't  know.  I  can't  seem  to  get  up  only  so  far." 
Some  one  stepped  around  the  other  side  to  assist  him,  when 
it  was  discovered  that  the  skirt  of  his  overcoat  had  worked 
outside  the  wagon-sheet  and  hung  over  the  edge,  and  that 
three  or  four  of  the  arrows  fired  by  the  Indians  had  struck 
the  side  of  the  wagon,  and  passing  through  the  flap  of  his 
coat  had  pinned  him  down.  Booth  pulled  the  arrows  out 
and  helped  him  up ;  he  was  pretty  stiff  from  sitting  in  his 
cramped  position  so  long,  and  his  right  arm  dropped  by  his 
side  as  if  struck  with  paralysis. 

While  Hallowell  walked  into  Captain  Conkey 's  tent,  assist- 
ed by  the  Adjutant  and  Quartermaster,  some  of  the  soldiers 


142  STORIES  OF  THE 

unhitched  the  poor  mules  and  led  them  to  the  corral.  In 
examining  the  inside  of  the  wagon  twenty-two  arrows  were 
found  lying  in  the  bottom,  innumerable  holes  through  the 
sheet  made  by  the  passage  of  arrows,  besides  two  from  bul- 
lets, and  the  outside  of  the  bed  was  scarred  from  one  end  to 
the  other. 

Booth  stood  looking  on  while  Hallowell's  wounds  were 
being  dressed,  when  the  Adjutant  said:  "What  makes  you 
shrug  your  shoulders  so,  Captain  ?"  Booth  replied  that  he 
"did  not  know;  something  causes  it  to  smart."  The  Adju- 
tant looked  and  said,  "  Well,  I  should  think  it  would  smart; 
here  is  an  arrow-head  sticking  into  it,"  and  he  tried  to  pull  it 
out,  but  it  would  not  come.  Captain  Goldsborough  then  at- 
tempted it,  but  was  not  more  successful  than  the  Adjutant. 
The  Doctor  told  them  to  let  it  alone  and  he  would  take  care 
of  it  after  he  had  finished  with  Hallowell,  which  he  soon  did, 
and  with  his  lance  cut  it  out.  The  point  of  the  arrow  had 
struck  the  thick  part  of  the  shoulder-blade  and  made  two 
complete  turns,  wrapping  around  the  muscles  which  had  to 
be  cut  apart  before  it  could  be  withdrawn. 

Both  of  the  principals  in  the  terrible  ride  were  soon  at- 
tended to  and  made  as  comfortable  as  possible.  Booth  was 
not  seriously  hurt,  Hallowell,  however,  had  received  two  se- 
vere wounds,  the  arrow  that  lodged  in  his  back  had  penetra- 
ted almost  to  his  kidneys,  and  the  wound  in  his  thumb  was 
very  painful,  caused  not  so  much  by  the  simple  contact  of 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  143 

the  arrow  as  the  tearing  away  of  the  muscle  by  the  shaft  while 
he  was  whipping  his  mules;  his  right  arm,  too,  was  swollen 
fearfully,  and  became  stiff  from  the  incessant  use  of  it  dur- 
ing his  drive,  and  for  nearly  a  month  he  required  help  in 
dressing  and  undressing.  The  rnules,  the  veritable  saviours  of 
our  heroes,  were  of  little  account  after  their  memorable  trip — 
they  remained  stiff  and  sore  from  the  rough  road  and  their 
continued  forced  speed.  Booth  and  Hallowell  went  out  the 
next  morning  to  take  a  look  at  them  as  they  hobbled  around 
the  corral,  and  from  the  bottom  of  their  hearts  wished  them 
"  green  fields  and  pastures  new." 

About  half  an  hour  after  the  little  wagon  had  returned 
to  Captain  Conkey's  camp,  a  portion  of  the  escort  which  had 
been  sent  out  in  advance  in  the  morning,  came  galloping  up 
and  from  them  was  learned  the  following  in  relation  to  their 
movements : 

They  had  started  from  camp  early,  as  ordered  the  night 
before,  and  moved  out  on  a  good  brisk  walk  toward  For 
Lamed.  There  were  plenty  of  buffalo  on  the  north  side  of 
the  trail,  and  they  saw  no  signs  of  Indians,  except  the  ab- 
sence of  buffalo  near  the  river.  They  kept  looking  back, 
and  slackened  their  gait  somewhat  after  getting  out  four  or 
five  miles,  to  enable  the  wagon  to  catch  up,  and  when  they 
had  proceeded  about  a  mile  beyond  the  point  where  the  In- 
dians made  their  first  attack,  and  the  wagon  had  been  turned 
toward  the  camp,  one  of  the  lieutenants  said  to  the  other 
that  they  were  getting  too  Tar  ahead  of  the  Captain,  and  sug- 


144  STORIES  OF  THE 

gested  the  propriety  of  halting,  but  Van  Antwerp,  who  was 
in  command,  thought  it  better  to  leave  a  part  of  the  compa- 
ny at  that  spot  to  wait ;  accordingly  a  corporal  and  fifteen 
men  were  detailed  to  remain  there  until  the  wagon  should 
arrive,  and  the  balance  moved  on  toward  the  Fort. 

The  squad  that  had  been  detailed  remained  by  the  side 
of  the  trail  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  when,  becoming  chilled, 
the  corporal  took  them  toward  the  river  into  a  ravine  that 
sheltered  both  men  and  horses  from  the  cold  northwest  wind. 
There  they  remained  sometime,  when  the  corporal,  becom- 
ing anxious,  sent  one  of  the  men  up  to  the  trail  to  see  if  the 
wagon  was  coming,  but  he  soon  returned  reporting  nothing 
in  sight.  Waiting  a  few  moments  longer  he  sent  another  man 
out,  who,  on  returning,  reported  that  the  wagon  was  coming 
and  had  an  escort.  This  last  man  had  seen  them  a  long  way 
off  while  the  Indians  were  chasing  them,  and  supposed  they 
were  an  escorting  party — which  was  correct  in  one  sense,  but 
not  as  he  thought  and  reported. 

Remaining  in  the  ravine  until  the  corporal  supposed  the 
wagon  had  arrived  nearly  opposite,  he  moved  out  his  squad 
on  the  trail,  but  seeing  no  wagon,  and  suspecting  something 
had  happened  started  his  party  toward  the  camp  on  Walnut 
Creek.  They  had  proceeded  but  a  short  distance  when  one 
of  the  men  cried  out :  "  Here's-  an  arrow  !  "  Hardly  were 
the  words  out  of  his  mouth  before  a  second  said:  "  Here's 
another!"  They  knew  now  the  reason  the  wagon  had  not 
come  up,  and  the  corporal  gave  the  command  to  gallop,  and 


OLD^SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  145 

away  they  flew  toward  the  camp.  As  they  successively 
passed  by  the  empty  valises  and  the  innumerable  arrows  on 
the  trail,  they  fully  realized  the  kind^of  an  escort  that  had  ac- 
companied the  little  wagon,  when  the  soldier  had  reported, 
''they  are  coming,  and  have  got  an  escort." 

Captain  Conkey's  command  returned  about  midnight. 
He  had  seen  but  one  Indian  during  the  entire  ride,  and  he 
was  on  the  south  side  of  the  river  in  the  sand  hills. 

The  next  morning  a  scouting  party  of  forty  men,  under 
command  of  a  sergeant,  was  started  out  to  scour  the  coun- 
try toward  Cow  Creek,  northeast  from  Captain  Conkey's 
camp  on  the  Walnut. 

When  this  party  had  proceeded  four  or  five  miles  toward 
their  objective  point,  a  corporal  reqested  the  sergeant  to 
allow  him  and  another  man  to  go  over  to  the  "Upper  Wal- 
nut Crossing,"  to  see  if  they  could  discover  any  signs  of  In- 
dians. 

The  sergeant,  to  excuse  himself  afterward,  stated  that 
he  supposed  the  men  were  simply  going  over  the  divide, 
instead  of  which  they  went  on  until  they  struck  the  upper 
trail  and  followed  it  down  around  the  bend,  almost  to  the 
creek. 

When  fairly  around  the  bend,  and  while  riding  carelessly 
along,  up  sprang  about  three  hundred  Indians,  whooping  and 
yelling!  The  two  soldiers,  of  course,  immediately  whirled 
their  horses  and  started  down  the  creek  toward  the  camp, 
hotly  pursued  by  the  howling  savages. 
14 


146  STORIES  OF  THE 

The  corporal  was  an  excellent  horseman,  and  led  out  in 
their  flight  closely  followed  by  the  private,  who  was  better 
mounted,  but  not  as  good  a  rider.  They  haol-  gone  but  a 
short  distance  when  the  corporal  heard  the  man  exclaim : 

"  Don't  leaVe  me  !     Don't  leave  me  !  " 

Looking  around,  he  saw  his  comrade  had  lost  ground, 
his  horse  was  rearing  and  plunging,  making  little  headway, 
while  his  rider  was  jerking  and  pulling  on  the  bit  (which  was 
a  curb  of  the  severest  kind),  the  corporal  called  to  him  and 
said: 

"  Let  him  out !  —  let  him  out !     Don't  jerk  him  so  !  " 

The  Indians  were  gaining  on  them  rapidly,  and  soon 
the  corporal  heard  the  man  cry  out  again  : 

"Oh!  don't !" 

Turning  his  head  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  a  spear- 
point  struck  the  visor  of  the  corporal's  cap  which  knocked  it 
off.  He  had  his  revolver  in  his  right  hand,  and  thrusting 
this  at  the  Indian  who  had  thrown  the  spear,  and  who  was 
now  side  by  side  with  him,  he  fired,  shooting  him  through 
and  through. 

No  use  delaying  now,  he  could  be  of  no  assistance  to 
his  unfortunate  comrade,  so  leaning  forward  and  sinking  the 
spurs  into  his  horse,  the  corporal  went  flying  down  the  val- 
ley, with  the  three  hundred  Indians  in  his  wake,  and  making 
the  prairie  ring  with  their  hideous  yells. 

The  officers  in  camp,  including  Captain  Booth  and  Lieu- 
tenant Hallowell,  were  sitting  in  their  tents  when  the  sentinel 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  147 

on  post  fired  his  gun,  upon  which  all  rushed  out  to  learn  the 
cause  of  the  alarm,  for  there  was  no  random  shooting  in  those 
days  allowed  around  camp  or  garrison.  Looking  up  the  val- 
ley of  the  Walnut,  they  could  see  the  lucky  corporal,  with 
his  long  hair  streaming  in  the  wind,  his  heels  rapping  his 
horse's  sides,  as  flecked  with  foam  the  noble  animal  was 
straining  every  muscle  as  he  fairly  flew  over  the  brown  sod  of 
the  winter  prairie.  The  Indians  were  in  hot  pursuit,  but 
could  not  gain  an  inch  on  the  excited  trooper  as  he  tore 
along  toward  camp. 

In  a  moment  a  hundred  men  had  snatched  their  carbines 
and  run  up  the  creek  to  the  rescue,  but  the  Indians,  true  to 
their  instinct,  turned  tail  before  they  came  within  gun-shot. 

The  corporal  slacked  up,  rode  to  the  officers'  tents,  and 
stopping  long  enough  to  give  his  version  of  the  affair,  then 
went  to  his  quarters. 

Captain  Conkey  started  a  squad  up  the  creek  in  a  few 
moments  accompanied  by  an  ambulance.  They  were  gone 
but  a  short  time  when  they  returned  with  the  dead  body  of 
the  unfortunate  private.  He  had  been  shot  with  an  arrow, 
the  point  of  which  was  sticking  out  through  his  breast-bone ; 
his  scalp  had  been  torn  completely  off,  and  the  lappels  of  his 
coat  and  the  legs  of  his  pantaloons  carried  away.  He  was 
buried  the  next  day.  The  main  detachment  that  had  gone 
toward  * '  Cow  Creek  "  returned  a  little  after  dark  without 
having  seen  an  Indian. 

Evidently  the  savages  that  had  given  Booth  and  Hallowell 


148  STORIES  OF  THE 

such  a  terrible  ride  the  day  before,  were  a  small  war  party  de- 
tached from  the  large  body  that  chased  the  corporal,  and  had 
gone  down  the  Santa  Fe  trail  to  pick  up  any  straggler  that 
might  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  passing  at  the  time — and 
the  "little  wagon "  happened  to  contain  those  " unfortunates." 

If  Booth  and  Hallowell  had  known  of  the  action  of  their 
escort,  it  would  have  been  better  for  them,  perhaps,  if  they 
had  continued  right  ahead  instead  of  turning,  as  they  could 
not  have  been  more  than  a  mile  from  the  ravine  where  the 
corporal  had  taken  his  men  when  the  Indians  first  attacked 
them.  Then,  again,  as  the  Indians  probably  knew  just  where 
the  escort  was,  they  might  have  fought  still  more  desperately, 
in  consideration  of  less  time  to  accomplish  their  work.  At 
any  rate,  our  two  heroes  escaped  with  comparatively  slight 
injury,  and  could  not  have  done  better  if  they  had  taken  the 
other  course,  though  the  agony  would  not  have  been  so  pro- 
longed. After  remaining  at  the  camp  on  the  Walnut  for  a 
day  or  two  to  recruit  their  shattered  nerves,  Booth  and  Hal- 
lowell returned  to  Fort  Riley,  and  the  latter  did  "see  his 
Lizzie  again" 

The  occurrence  narrated  in  this  sketch  is  but  one  in  a 
thousand ;  hundreds  terminated  more  tragically,  as  the  name- 
less graves  that  dot  the  prairie  along  the  Santa  Fe  trail  will 
most  assuredly  prove. 

Many  are  now  living  in  various  parts  of  the  State  who 
were  prominent  actors  in  the  stirring  scenes  and  "hair- 
breadth escapes"  of  those  perilous  days  of  the  "Border." 


OLD  SANTA   FE  TRAIL.  149 

Some,  too,  have  risen  to  positions  of  honor  and  trust,  while 
many  have  passed  over  "the  dark  river  " — too  soon  to  have 
witnessed  the  grand  Empire  that  has  grown  up  on  the  Great 
Plains,  where  they,  the  hardy  pioneers  of  our  marvelous 
civilization,  laid  down  their  lives,  a  sacrifice  demanded  by 
the  inevitable  and  rigorous  law  of  progress  in  the  genesis  of 
grand  states. 

Lieut.  Hallowell,  whose  bravery  and  heroism  has  been 
but  imperfectly  portrayed  in  this  "o'er  true"  sketch,  after 
the  terrible  ride,  succumbed  to  the  dreadful  scourge  that 
swept  over  Kansas  in  1867.  He  was  a  sub-contractor  on  the 
Pacific  Railroad,  then  in  process  of  construction,  when  that 
fell  disease,  cholera,  entered  his  camp,  in  one  of  the  beauti- 
ful little  valleys  tributary  to  the  Smoky  Hill,  and  while  ad- 
ministering to  the  comfort  of  his  fellow  laborers,  was  himself 
stricken  down.  There  on  the  primitive  prairie  his  grave  was 
dug,  and  all  that  remained  of  one  of  the  truest  and  bravest 
of  men  was  gently  laid  to  rest  with  the  great  circle  of  the 
heavens  for  his  monument,  and  the  recurring  blossoms  of 
spring  time  for  his  epitaph. 

Captain  Conkey,  after  faithfully  serving  his  country, 
retired  to  the  peaceful  pursuits  of  civil  life,  together  with  the 
great  army  of  volunteers,  and  in  the  tumult  of  subsequent 
events,  has  been  lost  sight  of. 

Captain  Booth  still  lives;  has  served  the  State  in  various 
capacities,  and  at  present  holds  the  responsible  position  of 
"  Receiver  of  the  Public  Moneys  "  in  the  U.  S.  Land  Office, 
at  Larned. 


150  STORIES  OF  THE 


THE  MASSACRE  AT  BABE'S  RANCH, 

AND    A    KANSAS    WOMAN'S    REMARKABLE    RIDE. 

On  the  Colorado  river,  near  the  source  of  that  stream 
in  Western  Texas,  some  twelve  years  ago,  Babb's  Ranch — a 
snug  little  jacal  cabin — marked  the  extreme  limit  of  frontier 
civilization,  the  march  of  which  so  wonderful  in  its  strides 
toward  the  mountains  since  that  date,  was  then  far  east  of 
the  ninety-eighth  meridian,  and  the  prairies  of  the  Lone 
Star  State,  and  our  own  beloved  Kansas,  a  wilderness,  into 
whose  magic  area  the  footsteps  of  the  hardy  pioneer  had  not 
yet  ventured.  Babb  loved  the  solitude  of  the  grand  old 
motionless  ocean  around  him,  and  was  supremely  happy  in 
the  society  of  his  little  family,  consisting  of  wife,  three  chil- 
dren, and  Mrs.  L (the  heroine  of  this  sketch)  a  relation 

by  marriage,  who  had  recently  become  widowed,  and  who 
now  was  making  her  home  temporarily  with  the  Babbs. 

The  cabin  was  prettily  situated  near  the  bank  of  a  small 
tributary  to  the  Colorado,  and  was  partially  surrounded  by 
thick  clumps  of  elders,  plum  bushes,  and  other  indigenous 
shrubs.  It  contained  only  one  room  which  served  as  parlor, 
chamber,  kitchen,  and  dining-room,  but  notwithstanding  the 
multifarious  uses  to  which  it  was  put,  was  kept  scrupulously 
clean  through  the  constant  exertions  of  the  female  portion  of 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  151 

its  inmates.  A  rude  ceiling  of  small  saplings  covered  with 
mesquit  grass  formed  the  floor  of  a  sort  of  garret  which  was 
used  as  a  general  "  stow-away,"  access  to  which  was  by 
means  of  a  rude  ladder  that  rested  against  the  wall  of  the 
room  below. 

Early  in  June,  1867,  Babb  found  it  necessary  to  take 
the  trail  for  one  of  the  little  Mexican  towns  near  the  foot  of 
the  mountains,  and  was  forced  to  leave  the  women  and  chil- 
dren to  take  care  of  themselves.  This  was  done  with  a 
sense  of  perfect  security,  however,  for  the  Indians  had  appar- 
ently entertained  friendly  relations,  and  Babb  placing — as 
many  a  poor  frontiersman  has  before  and  since — too  much 
confidence  in  the  humanity  of  the  Comanches,  left  home 
with  a  light  heart,  and  a  flattering  belief  that  his  family,  at 
least,  were  safe  from  the  murderous  knife  of  the  savage.  Vain 
hope !  In  less  than  a  week  after  Babb's  absence  on  a  mag- 
nificent morning  in  that  beautiful  June,  Mrs.  Babb  espied 
several  horsemen  coming  over  the  ridge  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away,  and  as  they  approached  saw  with  sinking  heart 
they  were  Comanches,  bedecked  in  all  the  hideousness  of 
their  war-paint.  Two  of  her  little  ones  were  innocently 
playing  down  in  the  creek  bottom  a  hundred  yards  or  so 
from  the  house,  and  the  first  impulse  of  the  mother's  heart, 
of  course,  was  the  safety  of  her  darlings.  So  she  ran  out, 
called  them  with  all  the  love  of  her  soul  to  come  to  the  house 
for  their  lives.  She  intended  to  get  them  inside,  bar  up  the 


152  STORIES  OF  THE 

door  and  stand  a  siege,  the  jacal  walls  of  the  building  being 
almost  proof  against  the  bullets  of  the  inferior  guns  in  the 
hands  of  the  Indians  of  those  days.  But  the  children  either 
not  hearing  her,  or  recognizing  the  fact  that  it  was  too  late, 
hid  in  the  bushes,  and  down  swept  the  savages  like  the 
wind.  In  a  moment  they  had  found  the  two  little  children 
out  of  doors,  tied  them  together  with  their  lariats,  and  leav- 
ing them  on  the  ground,  rushed  into  the  house,  the  door  of 
which  had  not  even  been  closed,  and  snatching  the  baby 
from  it's  mother's  arms  who  instinctively  essayed  to  save  it, 
dashed  its  brains  out  on  the  floor.  Two  of  the  savages, 
enraged  perhaps,  at  Mrs.  Babb's  resistance,  immediately 
jerked  the  unfortunate  woman  across  the  table  and  inhu- 
manly cut  her  throat  from  ear  to  ear,  putting  an  end  to  her 
life  and  grief  at  once. 

Mrs.  L ,  who  had  upon  the  first  dash  of  the  Indians 

toward  the  house,  rushed  up  the  ladder  into  the  garret,  see- 
ing the  butchery,  gave  a  shriek  of  horror,  upon  which  the 
savages  dragged  her  down  and — strange  as  it  may  seem — 
did  not  kill  her,  but  tying  her  hand  and  foot,  threw  her 
with  the  two  children  across  their  saddles  and  galloped  off 
to  the  North. 

General  Marcy,  who  gives  a  description  of  this  woman's 
fate  in  one  of  his  Border  Reminiscences,  says  : 

"  In  accordance  with  their  usual  practice,  they  traveled 
as  rapidly  as  their  horses  could  carry  them  for  several  days 
and  nights,  only  making  occasional  short  halts  to  graze  their 


OLD  SANTA  FE    TRAIL.  153 

animals  and  get  a  little  sleep  themselves,  so  that  the  unfor- 
tunate captives  necessarily  suffered  indescribable  tortures 
from  harsh  treatment,  fatigue,  and  want  of  sleep  and  food. 
Yet  they  were  forced  by  the  savages  to  continue  day  after 
day,  and  night  after  night  for  many  weary  miles  toward  the 
"  Staked  Plain,"  crossing  en  route  the  Brazos,  Wichita,  Red, 
Canadian,  and  Arkansas  rivers,  several  of  which  were  at 
swimming  stages. 

The  warriors  guarded  their  captives  very  closely  until 
they  had  gone  so  great  a  distance  from  the  settlements  that 
they  imagined  it  impossible  for  them  to  make  their  escape 
and  find  their  way  home,  when  they  relaxed  their  vigilance 
slightly,  and  they  were  permitted  to  walk  about  a  little  within 
short  limits  from  the  bivouac ;  but  they  were  given  to  under- 
stand by  unmistakable  pantomime  that  death  would  be  the 
certain  penalty  of  the  first  attempt  to  escape.  In  spite  of 

this  Mrs.  L ,  who  possessed  a  firmness  of  purpose  truly 

heroic,  resolved  to  seize  the  first  favorable  opportunity  to  get 
away  ;  and  with  this  resolution  in  view,  she  carfully  observed 
the  relative  speed  and  powers  of  endurance  of  the  different 
horses  in  the  party,  and  noted  the  manner  in  which  they 
were  grazed,  guarded,  and  caught.  Upon  a  dark  night  after 
a  long  and  fatiguing  day's  ride,  and  while  the  Indians  were 
sleeping  soundly,  she  noiselessly  and  cautiously  crawled 
away  from  the  bed  of  her  young  companions  who  were  also 
buried  in  profound  slumber,  and  going  to  the  pasture  ground 
of  the  horses,  selected  the  best,  leaped  upon  his  back  a  la 


154  STORIES  OF  THE 

%arcon,  with  only  a  lariat  on  his  neck,  and,  without  saddle 
or  bridle  started  off  quietly  at  a  slow  walk,  in  the  direction 
of  the  North  Star,  believing  this  course  would  lead  her  to 
the  nearest  white  inhabitants. 

As  soon  as  she  had  gone  out  of  hearing  of  the  camp, 
without  detection,   or  pursuit,   she  accelerated  the  speed  of 
her  horse  into  a  trot,   then  into  a  gallop,  and  urged  him 
rapidly  forward  during  the  entire  night. 

At  dawn  on  the  following  morning  she  rose  at  the  crest 
of  an  eminence  overlooking  a  vast  area  of  bold  prairie 
country,  where,  for  the  first  time  since  leaving  the  Indians 
she  halted,  and  turning  round,  tremblingly  cast  a  rapid  glance 
to  the  rear,  expecting  to  see  the  savage  blood-hounds  in 
eager  pursuit  upon  her  track ;  but,  to  her  great  joy  and  relief 
not  a  single  indication  of  a  living  object  could  be  discerned 
within  the  extended  scope  of  her  vision. 

She  breathed  more  freely  now,  but  still  did  not  feel  safe 
from  pursuit ;  and  the  total  absence  of  all  knowledge  of  her 
whereabouts  in  the  midst  of  the  wide  expanse  of  dreary  prai- 
rie around  her,  with  the  uncertainty  of  ever  again  looking 
upon  a  friendly  face,  caused  her  to  realize  most  vividly  her 
own  weakness  and  entire  dependence  upon  the  Almighty, 
and  she  raised  her  thoughts  to  Heaven  in  fervent  supplica- 
tion. 

The  majesty  and  sublimity  of  the  stupendous  works  of 
the  great  Author  and  Creator  of  the  Universe,  when  contrast- 
ed with  the  insignificance  of  the  powers  and  achievements  of 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  155 

a  vivified  atom  of  earth  modeled  into  human  form,  are  prob- 
ably under  no  circumstances  more  strikingly  exhibited  and 
felt  than  when  one  becomes  bewildered  and  lost,  in  the  midst 
of  the  almost  limitless  amplitude  of  our  great  North  American 
prairies,  where  not  a  single  foot-mark  or  other  trace  of  man's 
presence  or  action  can  be  discovered,  and  where  the  solitary 
wanderer  is  startled  even  at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice. 

The  sensation  of  loneliness  and  despondency  results  from 
the  appalling  consciousness  of  being  really  and  absolutely  lost, 
with  the  realization  of  the  fact  that  but  two  or  three  of  the 
innumerable  different  points  of  direction  embraced  within  the 
circle  of  the  horizon  will  serve  to  extricate  the  bewildered  vic- 
tim from  the  awful  doom  of  death  by  starvation,  and  in  entire 
ignorance  as  to  which  of  these  particular  directions  should  be 
followed,  without  a  single  road,  trail,  tree,  bush,  or  other  land- 
mark to  guide  or  direct — the  effects  upon  the  imagination  of 
this  formidable  array  of  disheartening  circumstances  can  be 
fully  appreciated  only  by  those'who  have  been  personally  sub- 
jected to  their  influence. 

A  faint  perception  of  the  intensity  of  the  mental  torture 
experienced  by  these  unfortunate  victims  may,  however,  be 
conjectured  from  the  fact  that  their  senses  at  such  junctures 
become  so  completely  absorbed  and  overpowered  by  the 
cheerless  prospect  before  them  that  they  oftentimes  wander 
about  in  a  state  of  temporary  lunacy,  without  the  power  of 
exercising  the  slightest  volition  of  the  reasoning  faculties. 

Such  instances  of  mental  alienation,  as  strange  as  it  may 


156  STORIES  OF  THE 

appear,  are  by  no  means  uncommon,  and  I  have  myself  seen 
several  persons  whose  minds  for  days  were  greatly  deflected 
from  the  channels  of  sanity.* 

The  inflexible  spirit  of  the  heroine  of  this  narrative  did 
not,  however,  succumb  in  the  least  to  the  imminent  perils  of 
the  situation  in  which  she  found  herself,  and  her  purposes 
were  carried  out  with  a  determination  as  resolute  and  unflinch- 
ing as  those  of  the  Israelites  in  their  protracted  pilgrimage 
through  the  wilderness,  and  without  the  guidance  of  the  pil- 
lars of  fire  and  cloud. 

The  aid  of  the  sun  and  the  broad  leaves  of  the  pilot 
plant  by  day,  with  the  light  of  Polaris  by  night,  enabled  her 
to  pursue  her  undeviating  course  to  the  north,  with  as  much 
accuracy  as  if  she  had  been  guided  by  the  magnetic  needle. 

She  continued  to  urge  forward  the  generous  steed  she 
bestrode,  who,  in  obedience  to  the  will  of  his  rider,  coursed 
swiftly  on  hour  after  hour,  during  the  greater  part  of  the  day, 
without  the  least  apparent  labor  or  exhaustion. 

It  was  a  contest  for  life  and  liberty  that  she  had  under- 
taken, a  struggle  in  which  she  resolved  to  triumph  or  perish 
in  the  effort;  and  still  the  brave  hearted  woman  pushed  on, 
until  at  length  her  horse  began  to  show  signs  of  exhaustion, 
and  as  the  shadows  of  evening  began  to  appear,  he  became 
so  jaded  that  it  was  difficult  to  coax  or  force  him  into  a  trot, 
and  the  poor  woman  began  to  entertain  serious  apprehension 


*Witness  the  woman  found  by  General  Custer'in  1868,  on  the  stream  in  Ford 
county,  north  of  Spearville — named  "White  Women's  Fork,"  in  commemoration  of 
the  fact.  H.  I. 


OLD  SANTA   FE  TRAIL.  157 

that  he  might  soon  give  out  altogether  and  leave  her  on  foot. 

At  this  time  she  was  herself  so  much  wearied  and  in 
want  of  sleep  that  she  would  have  given  all  she  possessed  to 
have  been  allowed  to  dismount  and  rest ;  but  unfortunately 
for  her,  those  practical  quadrupeds  of  the  plains,  the  wolves, 
advised  by  their  carniverous  instincts  that  she  and  her  exhaust- 
ed horse  might  soon  fall  an  easy  sacrifice  to  their  voracious 
appetites,  followed  upon  her  track  and  came  howling  in  great 
numbers  around  her,  so  that  she  dared  not  set  her  feet  upon 
the  ground;  and  her  only  alternative  was  to  continue  urging 
the  poor  beast  to  struggle  forward  during  the  dark  and  gloomy 
hours  of  the  long  night,  until  at  length  she  became  so  exhaust- 
ed that  it  was  only  with  the  utmost  effort  of  her  iron  will  that 
she  was  able  to  preserve  her  balance  upon  the  horse 

Meantime  the  ravenous  pack  of  wolves,  becoming  more 
and  more  emboldened  and  impatient  as  the  speed  of  her  horse 
relaxed,  approached  nearer  and  nearer  until  with  their  eyes 
flashing  fire,  they  snapped  savagely  at  the  head  of  the  terri- 
fied animal,  while  at  the  same  time  they  kept  up  their  hideous 
concert  like  the  howlings  of  ten  thousand  fiends  from  the  in- 
fernal regions. 

Every  element  in  her  nature  was  at  this  fearful  juncture 
taxed  to  its  greatest  tension,  and  impelled  her  to  concentrate 
the  force  of  all  her  remaining  energies  in  urging  and  coaxing 
forward  the  wearied  horse,  until  finally,  he  was  barely  able  to 
reel  and  struggle  along  at  a  slow  walk ;  and  when  she  was 
about  to  give  up  in  despair,  expecting  every  moment  that  the 
15 


158  STORIES  OF  THE 

animal  would  drop  down  dead  under  her,  the  welcome  light 
of  day  dawned  in  the  eastern  horizon,  and  imparted  a  more 
cheerful  and  encouraging  influence  over  her,  and  on  looking 
around,  to  her  great  joy  there  were  no  wolves  in  sight.  She 
now  for  the  first  time  in  about  thirty-six  hours  dismounted, 
and  knowing  that  sleep  would  soon  overpower  her,  and  that 
the  horse,  if  not  secured,  might  escape,  or  wander  away,  and 
there  being  no  tree  or  other  object  to  which  he  could  be  fast- 
ened, she  with  great  presence  of  mind  tied  one  end  of  the 
long  lariat  to  his  neck,  and  with  the  other  end  around  her 
waist  dropped  down  on  the  ground  into  a  deep  sleep,  while 
the  famished  horse  cropped  the  herbage  around  her.  She  was 
unconscious  as  to  the  duration  of  her  slumber ;  but  it  must 
have  been  protracted  to  have  compensated  the  demands  of 
nature  for  the  exhaustion  induced  by  her  prodigious  ride.  The 
sleep  was  sweet,  and  she  dreamed  of  happiness  and  home, 
losing  all  consciousness  of  her  actual  situation  until  she  was 
startled  and  aroused  by  the  pattering  sound  of  horses  feet 
beating  the  earth  on  every  side.  Springing  to  her  feet  in  the 
greatest  possible  alarm,  she  found  herself  surrounded  by  a 
large  band  of  savages,  who  commenced  dancing  around, 
flaunting  their  war-clubs  in  frightful  proximity  to  her  head, 
while  giving  utterance  to  the  most  diabolical  shouts  of  exul- 
tation. 

Her  exceedingly  weak  and  debilitated  condition  at  this 
time,  resulting  from  long  abstinence  from  food  and  unprece- 
dented mental  and  physical  trials,  had  wrought  upon  her 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  159 

nervous  system  to  such  an  extent  that  she  imagined  the  mo- 
ment of  her  death  had  arrived,  and  fainted.  The  Indians  then 
approached,  and  after  she  had  recovered,  placed  her  again 
upon  a  horse  and  rode  away  with  her  to  their  camp,  which 
fortunately  was  not  far  distant.  They  then  turned  their  pris- 
oner over  to  the  squaws,  who  gave  her  food  and  put  her  to 
bed;  but  it  was  several  days  before  she  was  sufficiently  able 
to  walk  about  the  camp.  She  learned  that  her  last  captor 
belonged  to  "Lone  Wolf's  band  of  Kiowas." 

Although  these  Indians  treated  her  with  more  kindness 
than  the  Comanches  had  done,  yet  she  did  not  for  an  instant 
entertain  the  thought  that  they  would  voluntarily  release  her 
from  bondage;  neither  had  she  the  remotest  conception  of 
her  present  locality,  or  of  the  direction  or  distance  to  any 
white  settlement,  but  she  had  no  idea  of  remaining  a  slave  for 
life,  and  resolved  to  make  her  escape  the  first  practicable 
moment  that  offered. 

During  the  time  she  remained  with  these  Indians  a  party 
of  men  went  away  to  the  north,  and  were  absent  six  days, 
bringing  with  them  on  their  return,  some  ears  of  green  corn. 
She  knew  the  prairie  tribes  never  planted  a  seed  of  any  descrip- 
tion, and  was,  therefore,  confident  it  was  not  over  three  days 
journey  distant  to  a  white  settlement,  which  the  party  had 
evidently  visited.  * 


*  This  corn  the  Indians  evidently  found  at  the  wood  camp  of  Al  Boyd  on  the 
Dry  Walnut  north  of  Lamed.  Mr.  Boyd  informs  me  that  in  the  year  referred  to 
quite  a  volunteer  crop  of  that  cereal  grew  up  in  his  various  camps,  and  that  the 
harvest,  such  as  it  was,  was  gathered,  in  all  probability  by  the  Indians.— H.  I. 


160  STORIES  OF  THE 

This  was  an  encouraging  intelligence  to  her,  and  she 
waited  the  time  anxiously  when  she  could  depart. 

Late  one  night,  after  all  had  become  hushed  throughout 
the  camp,  and  everything  seemed  auspicious  for  the  consum- 
mation of  her  purposes,  she  stole  carefully  away  from  her 
bed,  crept  softly  out  to  the  herd  of  horses,  and,  after  having 
caught  and  subdued  one,  was  in  the  act  of  mounting,  when 
a  number  of  dogs  rushed  out  after  her,  and  by  their  barking 
created  such  a  disturbance  among  the  Indians  that  she  was 
forced  for  the  time  to  forego  her  designs  and  crawl  hastily 
back  to  her  lodge.  On  a  subsequent  occasion,  however, 
fortune  favored  her.  She  secured  an  excellent  horse,  and 
rode  away  in  the  direction  from  which  she  had  observed  the 
Indians  returning  to  camp  with  the  green  corn.  Under  the 
certain  guidance  of  the  sun  and  stars,  she  was  enabled  to 
pursue  a  direct  bearing ;  and  after  three  consecutive  days  of 
rapid  riding,  anxiety  and  fatigue,  she  arrived  upon  the  border 
of  a  large  river,  flowing  directly  across  her  track.  The 
stream  was  swollen  to  the  tops  of  its  banks;  the  water  cours- 
ed like  a  torrent  through  its  channels,  and  she  feared  the 
horse  might  not  be  able  to  stem  the  powerful  current ;  but  after 
surmounting  the  numerous  perils  and  hardships  she  had 
already  encountered,  the  dauntless  woman  was  not  to  be 
turned  aside  from  her  inflexible  purpose  by  this  formidable 
obstacle,  and  she  instantly  dashed  on  into  the  foaming  tor- 
rent, and  by  dint  of  encouragement  and  punishment,  forced 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  161 

her  horse  through  th*e  stream,  and  landed  safely  upon  the 
opposite  bank. 

After  giving  her  horse  a  few  moments  rest,  she  again  set 
forward,  and  had  ridden  but  a  short  distance  when,  to  her 
inexpressable  astonishment  and  delight,  she  struck  a  broad 
and  well  beaten  wagon  road,  the  first  and  only  evidence  or 
trace  of  civilization  she  had  seen  since  leaving  her  home  in 
Texas. 

Up  to  this  joyful  moment  the  indomitable  inflexibility  of 
purpose  of  our  heroine  had  not  faltered  for  an  instant ;  neither 
had  she  suffered  the  slightest  despondency,  in  view  of  the 
terrible  array  of  disheartening  circumstances  that  had  contin- 
ually confrontered  her ;  but  when  she  realized  the  hopeful 
prospect  before  her  of  a  speedy  escape  from  the  reach  of  her 
barbarous  captives,  and  a  reasonable  certainty  of  an  early 
reunion  with  people  of  her  own  sympathizing  race,  the  fem- 
nine  elements  of  her  nature  preponderated,  her  stoical  forti- 
tude yielded  to  the  delightful  anticipation ;  and  her  joy  was 
intensified  and  confirmed  by  seeing  a  long  train  of  wagons 
approaching  over  the  distant  prairie.  The  spectacle  over- 
whelmed her  with  ecstacy,  and  she  wept  tears  of  joy  while 
offering  up  sincere  and  heart-felt  thanks  to  the  Almighty  for 
delivering  her  from  a  bondage  more  dreadful  than  death. 

She  then  proceeded  on  until  she  met  the  wagons  in 
charge  of  Robert  Bent,  whom  she  entreated  to  give  her  food 
instantly,  as  she  was  in  a  state  bordering  upon  absolute  starva- 
tion. He  kindly  complied  with  her  request,  and  after  the 


162  STORIES  OF  THE 

cravings  of  her  appetite  had  been  satisfied,  she  desired  to 
gratify  his  curiosity,  which  had  been  not  a  little  excited  at  the 
unusual  exhibition  of  a  beautiful  white  woman  appearing 
alone  in  that  wild  country,  riding  upon  an  Indian  saddle  with 
no  covering  upon  her  head  save  her  long  natural  hair,  which 
was  hanging  loosely  and  disorderly  about  her  shoulders,  while 
her  attire  was  sadly  in  need  of  repairs.  According  he  inquir- 
ed of  her  where  she  lived,  to  which  she  replied:  "In 
Texas."  Mr.  Bent  gave  an  incredulous  shake  of  his  head  at 
this  response,  remarking  at  the  same  time  that  he  thought 
she  must  be  mistaken,  as  Texas  happened  to  be  situated  some 
five  or  six  hundred  miles  distant.  She  reiterated  the  assur- 
ance of  her  statement,  and  described  to  him  briefly  the  leading 
incidents  attending  her  capture  and  mistake;  but  still  he  was 
inclined  to  doubt,  believing  she  might  possible  be  insane. 

He  informed  her  that  the  river  she  had  just  crossed  was 
the  Arkansas,  and  that  she  was  then  on  the  old  Santa  Fe  trail 
about  fifteen  miles  west  of  Big  Turkey  Creek,*  where  she 
would  find  the  most  remote  frontier  house.  Then,  after, 
thanking  him  for  his  kindness,  she  bade  him  adieu,  and  start- 
ed away  in  a  walk  toward  the  settlements,  while  he  continued 
his  journey  in  the  opposite  direction ;  but  he  still  followed  the 
exit  of  the  remarkable  apparition  with  his  eyes,  until  she  was 
several  hundred  yards  distant,  when  he  observed  her  throw 
one  of  her  feet  over  the  horse's  back  a  lafemme  sauvage,  and 
casting  a  graceful  kiss  toward  him  with  her  hand,  she  set  off 

*    The  point  where  Bent  met  Mrs.  L ,  is  on  the  old  trail,  nearly  on  the  line 

between  Rice  and  McPherson  counties.— H.  I. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  163 

on  a  gallop,  and  soon  disappeared  over  the  crest  of  the  prairie. 

On  the  arrival  of  Bent  at  Fort  Zara,  he  called  upon  the 
Indian  agent  and  reported  the  circumstance  of  meeting  Mrs. 

L ,  and  by  a  singular  coincidence,  it  so  happened,  that 

the  agent  was  at  the  very  time  holding  a  council  with  the 
Chief  of  the  identical  band  of  Indians  from  whom  she  had 
last  escaped,  and  they  had  just  given  a  full  history  of  the  en- 
tire affair,  which  seemed  so  improbable  to  the  agent  that  he 
was  not  disposed  to  credit  it  until  he  received  its  confirmation 
from  Bent.  He  at  once  dispatched  a  man  to  follow  the 
woman  and  conduct  her  to  Council  Grove,  where  she  was 
kindly  received,  and  remained  for  some  time,  hoping  through 
the  agents  to  gain  intelligence  of  the  two  children  she  had  left 
with  the  Comanches,  as  she  had  desired  to  take  them  back 
to  their  father  in  Texas;  but  no  tidings  were  gained.  Mean- 
time she  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  man  at  Council  Grove 
whom,  it  is  stated,  she  married,  and  for  aught  that  is  known, 
may  be  there  yet.  Wherever  she  is  I  wish  her  all  possible 
happiness. 

It  will  be  readily  seen  by  reference  to  the  map  of  the 

country  over  which  Mrs.  L passed,  that  the  distance 

from  the  place  of  her  capture  to  the  point  where  she  struck 
the  Arkansas  river,  could  not  have  been  short  of  five  hundred 
miles,  and  the  greatest  part  of  this  desert  plain  she  traveled 
alone,  without  seeing  a  single  civilized  human  habitation. 

If  any  other  woman,  in  ancient  or  modern  times,  has 
performed  as  signal,  and  equestrian  achievement  as  this,  I 
have  yet  to  learn  it. 


164  STORIES  OF  THE 


THE  SCOUTS'  LAST  RIDE. 

AN  INCIDENT  IN  THE  INDIAN  WAR  OF   1868-9. 

The  stranger  who  to-day  in  a  palace-car  surrounded  by 
all  the  luxuriance  of  modern  American  travel,  commences 
his  "  tour  of  the  prairies"  at  the  Missouri  River,  enters  classic 
ground  the  moment  he  leaves  the  muddy  flood  of  that  stream 
behind  him.  He  sees  a  large  city  at  the  very  portals  of  the 
"  New  West"  he  has  journeyed  so  far  to  explore,  and  all  the 
bustle  and  energy  of  the  grand  civilization  he  sought  refuge 
from,  has  followed  him  even  here— more  than  a  thousand 
miles  from  his  eastern  home. 

Gradually  as  he  is  whirled  along  the  "  Iron  Trail"  the 
woods  lessen,  he  catches  views  of  beautiful  intervales,  a  bright 
little  stream  flashes  and  foams  in  the  sunlight  as  the  trees 
open,  and  soon  he  emerges  on  the  broad  sea  of  prairie  shut 
in  only  by  the  great  circle  of  the  heavens. 

Dotting  this  motionless  ocean  everywhere,  like  whitened 
sails,  are  peaceful  little  homes  — true  argosies  ventured  by  the 
sturdy  and  hopeful  people  who  have  fought  their  way  to  that 
tranquillity  which  surrounds  the  beautiful  picture. 

But  it  was  not  always  so ;  and  however  strange  it  may 
seem  to  our  traveler,  the  rare  landscape  he  looks  upon  from 
his  polished  car  window  has  its  tale  of  blood  and  dark  despair, 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  165 

for  little  more  than  a  decade  ago — during  the  summer  and 
autumn  of  1868,  three  powerful  tribes — the  Cheyennes,  Kio- 
was,  and  Arrapahoes  waged  a  relentless  and  brutal  warfare 
upon  the  frontier  of  Kansas  and  Nebraska,  and  then  another 
picture  was  presented,  the  story  of  which  has  gone  down  to 
history  side  by  side,  with  that  other  terrible  one  of  Wyoming. 

Beautiful  valleys,  and  limpid  streams,  whose  margins 
were  fringed  with  a  dense  growth  of  timber,  under  the  shadows 
of  which  the  clear  water  rippled  along  rythmically  toward  the 
"  Great  River ; "  fields  rich  in  their  golden  cereals,  and  primL 
tive  homes  peeping  picturesquely  out  of  the  dark  foliage  of 
their  surroundings,  marked  the  fair  region,  whose  peaceful 
inhabitants  were  inhumanly  butchered  during  the  raids  of 
these  Indians  in  their  devastation  of  the  whole  line  of  settle- 
ments from  the  Republican  to  the  Arkansas. 

Men,  women,  and  children  were  slaughtered  with  a  piti- 
lessness  possible  only  to  Indians,  their  simple  little  dwellings 
consigned  to  the  torch,  and  young  girls  alone  saved  from  the 
keen  edge  of  the  scalping  knife  for  the  horrors  of  a  captivity 
infinitely  greater  than  death. 

The  dark  sky  was  illuminated  night  after  night  by  the 
glare  of  burning  ranches,  and  the  red  glow  on  the  horizon,  as 
the  flames  died  out,  carried  the  terrible  tidings  to  the  pallid 
watchers  along  the  border,  that  the  savages  were  circling 
nearer  to  them  in  their  fiendish  travels. 

Often  young  mothers  had  only  time  to  snatch  their  little 
ones  from  the  cradle  and  dragging  an  older  child  by  the  hand, 


166  STORIES  OF  THE 

hurriedly  hide  in  the  thick  brush  on  the  creek  bottoms,  while 
the  husband  jumping  on  his  horse,  alarmed  the  neighbors, 
who  returning  with  him,  sometimes  were  successful  in  driving 
off  the  savages. 

But  this  was  of  rare  occurrence,  for  families  so  widely 
separated  as  they  were  in  that  new  country  could  afford  but 
little  mutual  protection,  their  houses  being  frequently  twenty 
miles  apart,  and  before  the  news  could  spread  or  the  people 
gather  in  some  strong  log  cabin  for  defense,  the  Indians 
came  down  upon  them  like  the  north  wind,  murdering  and 
destroying  whole  settlements  in  a  single  summer  afternoon. 

That  lovely  belt  of  country  between  the  two  rivers  was 
consequently  abandoned,  and  the  few  settlers  who  escaped 
the  fury  of  the  Indians  were  driven  into  the  military  posts  of 
Harker  and  Riley,  houseless,  homeless  and  starving.  There 
they  were  kindly  sheltered,  clothed  and  fed  by  the  Govern- 
ment until  it  was  safe  for  them  to  return  to  their  abandoned 
claims  and  commence  the  settlement  of  the  country  over. 

They  then  found  nothing,  of  course,  but  the  bare  land. 
A  little  mound  of  ashes  alone  indicated  the  spot  where  their 
homes  had  stood ;  their  fences  and  cattle  were  all  gone,  some- 
times wife  and  children,  too — tortured  and  then  murdered  or 
miserable  slaves  in  the  hands  of  the  Indians. 

But  with  a  determination  to  surmount  obstacles  that  any 
other  than  our  noble  army  of  pioneers  would  shrink  from, 
they  took  up  the  axe  again  and  cut  their  way  to  the  peace 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  167 

and  thrift  that  has  gradually  increased  to  what  it  is  to-day  in 
that  region. 

The  condition  of  affairs  on  that  verge  of  civilization  in 
Kansas  during  the  years  referred  to,  was  much  more  terrible 
than  the  mere  outline  above  attempted.  The  horrible  truths 
and  outrageous  brutalities  inflicted  can  never  appear  in  print 
to  shock  the  sensibilities  of  a  refined  people,  and  the  very 
impossibility  of  this  fact  has  done  much  toward  creating  a 
false  sympathy  for  the  Indians,  who,  if  their  diabolical  acts 
were  known  universally,  as  they  are  known  to  the  compara- 
tive few,  Vould  be  declared  beyond  the  pale  of  the  slightest 
mercy  or  leniency  in  the  swift  punishment  that  would  be 
sure  to  follow. 

In  the  middle  of  September  1868,  General  Sheridan  as- 
sumed immediate  command  of  the  Department  of  the  Mis- 
souri, which  included  in  its  geographical  area  the  whole  prairie 
region  west  of  the  Missouri  river  and  a  portion  of  the  moun- 
tains. The  famous  Seventh  Cavalry  under  General  Custer 
was  scattered  along  the  Smoky  Hill  at  Hays,  Harker  and 
Wallace,  and  the  Fifth  and  Third  Infantry  at  the  various 
military  posts  in  the  Arkansas  Valley  and  at  Fort  Leaven- 
worth. 

These  were  the  only  available  troops  in  this  section  at 
the  disposal  of  the  commanding  General  when  he  determined 
to  organize  a  winter  campaign  against  the  hostile  tribes. 

The  idea  of  a  successful  campaign  against  the  Indians  of 
the  Great  Plains  in  mid-winter  was  something  entirely  novel 


168  STORIES  OF  THE 

in  border  warfare,  and  had  its  origin  in  the  wonderful  percep- 
tion and  power  to  overcome  military  difficulties  inherent  in 
General  Sheridan. 

Heretofore  it  had  been  considered  beyond  the  limit  of 
possibilities  to  make  a  vigorous  war  upon  the  tribes  in  that 
season  on  account  of  the  numberless  apparently  insuperable 
obstacles  that  constantly  interpose  themselves — the  fickle 
changes  in  climate — scarcity  of  grass  in  some  localities  for 
the  animals,  the  obstruction  of  partly  frozen  streams,  and  a 
thousand  and  one  counteracting  influences  constantly  at  work 
in  the  desolateness  of  these  remote  plains. 

The  undertaking  was  regarded  by  many  old  officers  who 
had  been  stationed  on  the  frontier  for  years  as  purely  vision- 
ary, and  by  plainsmen  generally,  as  experimental  at  least, 
with  the  probabilities  of  success  strongly  on  the  side  of  the 
negative. 

In  almost  every  instance  where  expeditions  had  been 
sent  against  the  Indians  in  the  spring  and  summer — the  very 
season  which  they  themselves  select  for  the  operation  of  their 
implacable  hatred  of  the  whites — the  result  had  almost  invari- 
ably been  disastrous  to  the  army,  or  the  effect  upon  the  In- 
dian unsubstantial. 

General  Sheridan  (purposing  to  profit  by  the  example  of 
General  Hancock,  his  immediate  predecessor  in  the  command 
of  the  Department,  whose  expensive  and  gorgeous  campaign 
of  the  summer  before — gorgeous  in  its  pomp  and  circum- 
stance— had  been  futile  of  results)  perceived  at  once  that  a 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  169 

termination  of  the  warfare  raging  along  the  border  every  re- 
curring season  could  effectually  be  reached  only  by  a  severe 
and  decisive  blow  to  the  savages  in  their  winter  quarters. 

To  that  end,  therefore,  immediately  after  the  massacre 
on  Spillman  Creek  early  in  September,  he  removed  his  head- 
quarters from  Fort  Leavenworth  to  Fort  Harker,  on  the 
Smoky  Hill,  and  from  thence  to  Fort  Hays,  temporarily, 
until  the  expedition  was  organized,  which  he  then  command- 
ed in  person. 

The  country  knows  how  completely  he  succeeded  in  re- 
moving the  hostile  tribes  to  their  allotted  reservations,  and 
how  effectually  he  prevented  any  further  trouble  with  the  In- 
dians in  this  portion  of  Kansas,  bringing  a  peace  to  the  re- 
gion under  discussion  that  will  never  again  be  broken  by  their 
sanguinary  incursions. 

Previous  to  the  organization  of  the  winter  expedition — 
about  the  first  of  September — General  Alfred  Sully,  who 
commanded  the  Military  District  of  the  Upper  Arkansas, 
with  eight  companies  of  the  Seventh  Cavalry,  and  five  com- 
panies of  Infantry,  left  Fort  Dodge  on  a  hurried  excursion 
against  the  Kiowas,  Arrapahoes  and  Cheyennes,  who  had 
been  committing  depredations  in  small  parties  along  the  bor- 
der during  the  summer. 

The  command  marched  in  a  general  southeasterly  direc- 
tion from  the  Arkansas,  and  reached  the  "sand  hills  "  of  the 
Beaver  and  Wolf,  by  a  circuitous  route  on  the  fifth  day. 

When  nearly  through  that  comparatively  barren  region, 
16 


170  STOKIES  OF  THE 

they  were  attacked  by  about  eight  hundred  of  the  allied  tribes 
under  the  lead  of  the  famous  Kiowa  chief  Satanta. 

A  running  fight  was  kept  up  with  the  savages,  on  the 
first  day  in  which  two  of  the  cavalrymen  were  killed  and  one 
wounded. 

The  Indians  gradually  increased  their  force  by  new  gath- 
erings until  they  mustered  over  two  thousand  warriors — and 
the  expedition  was  forced  to  retreat  toward  the  Arkansas. 

For  four  days  and  nights  the  Indians  hovered  around 
the  command,  and  by  the  time  it  had  reached  the  mouth  of 
Mulberry  Creek — twelve  miles  from  Ft.  Dodge — there  are 
not  one  thousand  rounds  of  ammunition  left. 

The  incessent  charges  of  the  now  infuriated  savages 
compelled  the  troops  to  use  this  small  amount  held  in  reserve, 
and  they  found  themselves  almost  at  the  mercy  of  the  enemy 
when  they  reached  the  river. 

But  before  they  were  absolutely  defenseless,  Col.  M.  W. 
Keogh,  of  the  seventh  cavalry  (afterward  killed  at  the 
"  Rose  Bud  "  in  Custer's  chivalrous  but  disastrous  battle  with 
Sitting  Bull),  had  sent  a  trusty  messenger  in  the  night  to  Ft. 
Dodge  for  a  supply  of  cartridges  to  meet  them  at  the  creek, 
which  fortunately  reached  there  in  time  to  save  that  point 
from  being  a  literal  "Last  Ditch." 

The  Indians  in  that  little  but  exciting  encounter,  would 
ride  up  boldly  toward  the  squadrons  of  cavalry,  discharge 
the  shots  from  their  revolvers,  and  then  in  their  rage  throw 
them  at  the  skirmishers  on  the  flankers  of  the  supply  train, 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  171 

while  the  latter,  nearly  all  of  whom  were  out  of  ammunition, 
were  compelled  to  sit  quietly  in  their  saddles,  idle  spectators 
of  the  extraordinary  scene. 

Many  of  the  Indians  were  killed  on  their  ponies,  how- 
ever, by  those  who  were  fortunate  enough  to  have  a  few 
rounds  left,  but  none  were  captured,  as  the  Indians  had  taken 
their  usual  precaution  to  tie  themselves  to  their  animals,  and 
as  soon  as  dead  were  dragged  away  by  them. 

This  essay  of  General  Sully,  to  feel  as  it  were  the  dis- 
position of  the  Indians,  determined  the  question  of  a  sweep- 
ing war,  and  General  Sheridan,  as  we  have  stated,  inaugu- 
rated immediate  measures  to  make  it  decisive  and  effectual. 

Removing  his  headquarters  to  Ft.  Hays,  on  the  Smoky 
Hill  route,  the  organization  of  the  winter  expedition  was  im- 
mediately commenced. 

All  the  available  troops  in  the  department  previously 
referred  to,  together  with  the  fifth  cavalry,  which  had  been 
ordered  to  report  to  General  Sheridan  for  this  special  duty ; 
picked  warriors  from  among  the  friendly  Osages  and  Pawnees, 
and  the  services  of  celebrated  frontiersmen  were  called  into 
service. 

Desperate  duties  were  required  of  the  famous  frontiers- 
men employed,  who,  under  the  general  term  of  "scouts," 
were  expected  to  carry  dispatches,  hang  on  the  trail  of  the 
Indians,  and  in  the  capacity  of  couriers,  keep  open  communi- 
cation between  Ft.  Dodge  and  the  troops  operating  in  that 
memorable  campaign  of  1868-9. 


172  STORIES  OF  THE 

These  " scouts"  were  invariably  picked  men.  They 
were  selected  with  the  greatest  of  care,  with  special  reference 
to  their  knowledge  of  the  Indian  character  and  perfect  famil- 
iarity with  the  localities  of  the  prosposed  field  of  action,  and 
in  the  latter  capacity  guided  the  troops  through  the  unbroken 
wilderness  of  the  Central  Plains. 

Many  of  these  men  had  passed  eventful  lives  from  boy- 
hood among  the  Kiowas,  Arrapahoes  and  Cheyennes.  Some 
had  married  and  been  adopted  by  these  tribes,  and  not  only 
understood  their  language  perfectly,  but  had  mastered  all  the 
original  astuteness  and  strategy  of  the  Indians  themselves. 

Nearly  all  of  them  were  identified  with  the  early  strug- 
gles of  the  borders,  and  they  rightfully  belong  to  that  roll  of 
heroes  in  the  unwritten  record  of  those  troublous  times  in 
Kansas'  history,  which  has  never  yet  graced  the  fair  pages  of 
our  popular  magazines,  but  who  may  one  of  these  days  figure 
conspicuously  in  the  annals  of  the  country,  when  all  the 
facts  in  its  memoirs  are  collected  by  another  and  unpreju- 
diced generation. 

But  they  have  another  history  too,  which  belongs  to  the 
tribes  among  whom  they  lived  so  long,  that  will  never  die 
while  the  Indian  remains,  though  its  narration  is  given  only 
in  rude  legendary  form,  to  the  dusky  listeners  wrapped  in 
their  buffalo  robes  sitting  around  the  magic  circle  of  the 
"  medicine  lodge." 

Some  of  these  men  still  live,  and  some  are  quietly  rest 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  173 

ing  under  the  silvery  cottonwoods  and  willows  of  the  far  off 
plains. 

The  march  of  civilization  over  the  territory  in  which 
their  remarkable  lives  were  passed  is  rapidly  obliterating  all 
trace  of  their  simple  sepulchres,  and  absorbingtheir  memory 
in  the  uncertain  light  of  mere  tradition. 

The  duties  demanded  of  the  "  scouts"  during  the  cam- 
paign were  fraught  with  danger,  desperate  venture,  and  ter- 
rible chances  for  life  oftentimes,  yet  they  received  no  greater 
reward  than  was  given  to  other  civilians  employed. 

How  nobly  these  brave  men  fulfilled  their  mission,  the 
fight  of  Gen.  Geo.  A.  Forsyth  on  the  Arrickaree  Fork  of  the 
Republican  (one  of  the  most  desperate  chapters  in  Indian 
warfare,  taken  altogether,  in  the  history  of  the  continent), 
General  Ouster's  battle  of  the  Washita,  and  the  grassy 
mounds  in  the  little  graveyard  at  Ft.  Dodge  on  the  treeless 
banks  of  the  Arkansas  where  those  lie  who  went  out  fear- 
essly  to  their  death — all  testify. 

How  two  of  these  "scouts"  laid  down  their  lives  in  a 
ride  of  a  hundred  miles  through  a  gauntlet  of  determined 
savages,  is  the  subject  of  this  sketch. 

To  those  who  look  upon  everything  in  this  world  with 
only  a  utilitarian  faith,  and  measure  all  operations  of  human 
circumstances  by  the  scale  of  dollars  and  cents,  it  undoubt- 
edly seems  strange  that  a  remuneration  was  not  demanded  and 
given  to  these  men,  corresponding  with  the  awful  risks  incur- 
red. But  there  is  an  indescribable  and  unconquerable  infat- 


174  STORIES  OF  THE 

uation  attending  a  life  in  the  desolateness  of  the  remote 
plains,  and  a  companionship  of  constant  danger  which  lends 
a  charm  that  can  never  be  perfectly  understood  by  the  deni- 
zens of  our  crowded  cities  in  the  East,  that  far  out-weighs 
any  tangible  reward  that  could  be  offered. 

Neither  the  love  of  gold  then,  nor  the  hope  of  popularity 
— those  two  altars  upon  which  so  many  men  sacrifice  them- 
selves in  the  teeming  haunts  of  business — tempted  them  to 
the  deeds  which  have  made  them  famous.  Such  men  whose 
story  is  always  full  of  interest,  seek  danger  for  the  simple 
charm  of  it,  and  that  alone  is  the  secret  of  their  eventful  lives. 

Five  hundred  six-mule  army  wagons,  with  its  comple- 
ment of  more  than  as  many  teamsters,  wagon-masters,  cooks 
and  herders,  composed  the  transportation  train  that  constant- 
ly traveled  between  the  depot  at  Fort  Dodge  on  the  Arkansas, 
and  the  base  of  operations  at  the  camp  on  Beaver  river,  (now 
known  as  Camp  Supply,)  and  one  of  the  principal  posts  of 
observation  in  the  Indian  Territory,  where  the  Kiowa  and 
Cheyenne  reservations  are  located. 

Over  the  broad  trail  marked  by  the  passage  of  the  long 
train  of  wagons,  the  Indians  hovered  inj»mall  parties  all  win- 
ter, and  through  this  line  of  watchful  savages,  the  courier 
scout's  perilous  journey  had  to  be  effected 

On  their  dreary  route  of  over  one  hundred  miles,  with 
no  place  of  refuge  between  the  camp  and  Fort  Dodge,  it  was 
literally,  at  times,  a  ride  for  life. 

Two  of  these  l  'scouts"  usually  traveled  together  under 
considerations  of  both  companionship  and  safety,  for  it  is  pos- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  175 

sible  that  two  determined  men  well  acquainted  with  the 
peculiar  tactics  of  the  Indians,  may  prove  a  match  for  twenty, 
but  difficult  under  equal  circumstances  for  one  to  get  away 
from  five. 

The  most  exposed  portions  of  the  trail  were  ridden  over 
at  night,  while  in  the  daytime,  the  "scouts"  secreted  them- 
selves in  some  rocky  canon  or  timbered  ravine  until  darkness 
again  favored  their  lonely  trip.  Only  when  within  a  few 
miles  of  their  destination  at  either  end  of  the  route,  were  f  he 
chances  of  a  run  by  sunlight  taken. 

The  characteristic  recklessness  of  some,  however,  in 
even  essaying  this  performance  resulted  in  a  severe  fight  on 
more  than  one  occasion,  and  the  death  of  two,  as  the  sequel 
will  show,  on  another. 

Two  days  of  hard  riding,  or  rather  nights,  and  untiring 
watchfulness,  were  required,  to  effect  the  hazardous  journey, 
and  none  others  but  the  ''scouts"  attempted  it;  as  when  it 
became  necessary  for  parties  connected  with  the  military  ex- 
peditions to  go  to  either  of  the  posts,  they  did  so  under  escort 
of  the  wagon  train,  never  with  the  "scouts." 

Early  in  the  montl>  of  November,  two  scouts — one  a 
half-breed  known  all  over  the  plains  as  McDonald,  and  the 
other  a  white  man  named  Davis,  were  sent  out  from  Camp 
Supply  by  General  Sheridan,  (who  had  taken  up  his  head- 
quarters at  that  point,)  shortly  after  dark  with  important  dis- 
patches for  the  Government,  and  a  small  mail  for  Fort 
Dodge. 


176  STORIES  OF  THE 

McDonald  was  a  half  Cheyenne,  his  father  had  in  all 
probability  been  a  Scotch  trapper  in  the  employ  of  the  North- 
west Fur  Company,  thirty  or  forty  years,  before  but  McDonald 
remembered  nothing  of  him,  and  had  lived  all  his  life  with 
the  tribe  whose  blood  flowed  through  his  veins.  He  was. 
therefore,  an  Indian  by  education,  and  possessed  nearly  all 
their  characteristics,  with  the  remarkable  exception  of  a  de- 
cided friendship  for  the  white  race,  whose  cause  he  heroical- 
ly espoused  at  the  commencement  of  hostilities. 

He  rarely  wore  any  other  dress  than  the  traditional 
buckskin  suit,  heavily  porcupined  and  beaded,  with  its 
long  fringe  drooping  gracefully  from  the  seams,  and  on  cer- 
tain occasions  adhered  most  religiously  to  the  tribal  fascina- 
tions of  the  war  paint,  which  he  then  used  in  the  most 
extravagant  manner. 

That  he  was  the  representative  of  one  of  the  noblest  at- 
tributes of  human  nature,  however — faithfulness,  which  rather 
than  break,  he  accepted  death — will  be  conceded  further  on. 

Davis  was  born  in  Ohio,  and  had  wandered  to  the  Great 
Plains  when  he  was  only  fourteen,  having  been  attracted  by  its 
mysteries  and  charms,  in  1843,  shortly  after  the  appearance 
of  General  Fremont's  fascinating  report  of  his  memorable 
expedition  to  the  "Rocky  Mountains  and  beyond." 

For  twenty  years  he  had  roamed  over  the  "  Far  West  " 
making  his  home  near  the  head-waters  of  the  Missouri  and 
among  the  Sioux,  whose  beautiful  language  he  understood 
perfectly.  He  had  been  south  of  the  Platte  only  a  few  sea- 
sons previous  to  the  breaking  out  of  the  hostiles,  where  he 


OLD   SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  177 

had  taken  up  with  a  Cheyenne  squaw,  and  was  trading  with 
that  nation  when  the  war  commenced. 

The  only  remarkable  characteristic  possessed  by  Davis 
was  a  wonderfully  quick  perception  and  determination,  unex- 
celled by  any  other  man  I  ever  knew. 

All  men  whose  lives  have  been  spent  on  the  plains  or  in 
the  mountains  from  boyhood,  I  am  aware,  have  this  element 
of  character  in  a  marked  degree  usually,  which  places  them 
in  moments  of  great  difficulty  and  peril  far  ahead  of  the 
Indian,  but  Davis  was  strongly  superior  in  this  particular  • 
he  subordinated  it  sometimes,  however,  to  an  extensive  reck- 
lessness, which  eventually  cost  him  his  life. 

The  days  dragged  slowly  along,  and  more  than  a  week 
past  without  the  return  of  McDonald  and  Davis  to  Camp 
Supply — nothing  had  been  heard  of  them  since  they  had 
ridden  out  in  the  dark  of  that  cold  winter  night.  Other 
scouts  had  come  and  gone  again,  but  they  brought  no  news 
of  their  arrival  at  Fort  Dodge,  and  of  course  it  was  con- 
ceded that  they  were  dead — killed  by  the  Indians — but  how, 
or  where,  was  all  wrapped  in  mystery.  The  wagon  train 
which  constantly  traveled  on  the  trail  from  the  Camp  to  the 
Arkansas  brought  no  information  in  regard  to  their  fate,  and 
it  was  believed  that  like  the  ocean  which  never  gives  up  its 
dead,  the  great  plains  had  added  another  silent  chapter  to  its 
horrors. 

Nearly  three  weeks  after  the  disappearance  of  the  scouts, 
as  the  train  one  afternoon  was  approaching  the  low  reaches 


178  STORIES  OF  THE 

of  the  Cimarron  bottoms,  a  large  party  of  Indians  were 
observed  on  the  sand  hills  about  a  mile  and  a  half  away  on 
the  opposite  side  of  that  river,  apparently  watching  the  com- 
mand. The  cavalry  were  immediately  sent  in  pursuit,  which 
movement  as  quickly  as  the  Indian  discovered  they  started 
over  the  divide  and  were  out  of  sight  in  a  moment.  A 
squadron  of  the  mounted  detachment  kept  on  however,  to 
the  spot  where  the  Indians  were  first  seen,  but  it  was  not 
considered  prudent  by  the  commanding  officer  to  chase  them 
further  and  leave  the  train  without  all  its  escort,  as  this  move 
of  the  Indians  who  could  no  longer  be  seen,  might  only  be  a 
ruse  to  draw  a  portion  of  the  troops  away,  while  another  war 
party,  possibly  secreted  somewhere  in  the  interminable  sand 
hills,  could  dash  in,  stampede  the  mules  and  cut  off  a  por- 
tion of  the  wagons,  that  locality  being  peculiarly  fitted  for 
such  strategy. 

Soon  after  reaching  the  high  sand  knoll  from  which  the 
Indians  had  been  watching  the  movements  of  the  train,  the 
troops  dismounted  and  there  discovered  the  first  link  in  the 
chain  of  mystery  that  surrounded  the  fate  of  McDonald  and 
Davis. 

In  a  little  ravine  a  short  distance  from  where  the  horses 
siood,  under  a  clump  of  plum  bushes,  three  roughly  made 
graves  were  found,  which  the  men  tore  open  and  resurrected 
the  bodies  of  three  Arrapahoe  warriors,  wrapped  in  heavily 
porcupined  and  otherwise  richly  ornamented  buffalo  robes. 
The  war  paint  was  still  fresh  on  their  faces,  and  their  raw- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  179 

hide  shields  were  lying  on  their  breasts.  Bows,  arrows,  and 
a  red  stone  pipe  were  found  lying  at  the  side  of  each,  and 
around  the  neck  of  one  a  circlet  of  wolf  teeth,  interspersed 
at  regular  distances  with  the  rattles  of  the  rattle-snake — a 
characteristic  ornament. 

Through  the  bodies  of  two  of  the  dead  savages  were  bul- 
let holes,  corresponding  in  caliber  to  the  Spencer  carbine, 
and  another  through  the  neck  of  the  remaining  warrior 
plainly  indicated  how  they  had  found  their  death ;  but  by 
whose  hand,  and  where,  and  why  were  they  left  among  the 
barren  sand-hills  ? 

The  trail  of  a  large  war  party  was  discovered  a  few  rods 
off  from  the  mouth  of  the  ravine  leading  from  the  north,  and 
the  imprint  of  their  moccasins  in  the  soft  earth  indicated  they 
had  rested  there.  These  facts  connected  with  other  unmis- 
takable signs  to  the  initiated  in  plains-lore,  clearly  connected 
the  death  of  the  Indians  buried  here  with  the  fate  of 
McDonald  and  Davis,  whose  bones  it  was  certain  were 
bleaching  somewhere  between  the  Cimarron  and  Arkansas. 

The  dead  Indians  were  stripped  of  their  trinkets,  hur- 
riedly rolled  back  in  their  holes  and  the  cavalry  rode  slowly 
back  to  the  river,  where  they  found  the  men  cutting  the  ice 
and  the  train  ready  to  cross. 

A  new  interest  was  awakened  among  the  command,  and 
every  man  was  untiring  in  his  efforts  to  find  out  something 
more  in  relation  to  the  missing  "  scouts." 

The  whole  region  within  protecting  distance  of  the  train 


180  STORIES  OF  THE 

was  carefully  scoured  as  they  moved  along  by  the  cavalry, 
and  even  the  infantry  made  tedious  detours  from  the  direct 
line  of  march  in  hope  of  unraveling  the  fate  of  the  unfortu- 
nate scouts,  but  another  day  passsd  away  without  any  further 
clue,  and  the  command  went  into  camp  on  the  high  land 
between  the  Cimarron  and  Crooked  creek  full  of  excitement. 
On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  after  leaving  the 
Cimarron,  as  the  train  was  approaching  Mulberry  creek, 
further  evidence  of  the  death  of  the  scouts  was  discovered. 
The  commanding  officer  was  riding  with  Colonel  Keogh  in 
advance  of  the  column,  intently  watching  the  actions  of  the 
Colonel's  two  hounds,  of  rare  breed,  that  always  accompa- 
nied him,  and  who  were  evidently  on  the  trail  of  some  ani- 
mal, when  suddenly  an  immense  pack  of  gray  wolves  were 
driven  out  of  the  bush  by  one  of  the  flankers  who  had  been 
ordered  in  that  direction  by  Colonel  Keogh,  and  in  a 
moment  the  frightened  pack  were  scampering  over  the  prai- 
rie with  all  the  dogs  of  the  train  in  full  pursuit. 

In  a  short  time,  and  before  the  wolves  were  out  of  sight, 
the  interest  of  the  two  officers  in  those  animals  were  inter- 
rupted by  a  young  lieutenant,  who  came  galloping  up  to 
them  from  the  rear  of  the  train,  holding  in  his  hands  a  pair 
of  new  pantaloons  that  had  been  saturated  with  blood,  but 
which  was  now  dry. 

"  Major,"  said  the  lieutenant,  saluting  the  commanding 
officer,  "  one  of  my  men  found  this  near  the  creek,  and  I 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  181 

think  it  has  a  story  if  we  can  read  it,  that  will  tell  something 
more  about  the  fate  of  McDonald  and  Davis." 

The  commanding  officer  scanned  the  bloody  cloth  a  mo- 
ment, and  handing  it  to  Col.  Keogh  for  inspection,  replied  : 
"Evidently  those  pantaloons  have  been  torn  from  the 
wearer;  they  were  never  taken  off  in  the  ordinary  manner, 
for  you  can  see  they  are  still  buttoned,  and  I  imagine  the 
Indians  and  Coyotes  have  had  a  hand  in  it;  Col.  Keogh  and 
myself  were  just  wondering  what  so  many  wolves — pointing 
with  his  glass  to  the  pack  in  the  distance — were  doing  here 
on  the  creek — there  is  certainly  some  unusual  cause  to  attract 
them,  and  now  their  presence  confirms  your  suspicions,  and 
I  believe  myself  we  shall  find  out  something  here  in  regard 
to  the  missing  ''scouts"  or  some  one  else  who  has  been 
murdered  by  the  Indians." 

Col.  Keogh  suggested  the  propriety  of  camping  there, 
and  the  Lieutenant  stated  there  was  plenty  of  wood  and 
water. 

11  You  may  stop  the  train,"  said  the  Major,  addressing 
himself  to  the  Adjutant  who  had  now  joined  the  little  group 
that  had  gathered  where  this  conversation  took  place.  ' '  We 
will  go  into  camp  on  the  creek — it  is  early  yet,  and  perhaps 
we  can  find  out  all  about  the  matter  before  dark.  As  soon 
as  the  men  get  their  dinners,  order  every  one  who  can  safely 
leave,  to  make  a  thorough  search  all  over  the  prairie,  and  up 
and  down  the  creek." 

The  Adjutant  rode  back,  halted  the  train,  and  the  com- 
17 


182  STORIES  OF  THE 

mand,  among, whom  the  story  of  the  bloody  pants  had  now 
circulated,  went  into  camp,  cooked  their  dinners  as  quickly 
as  possible,  in  order  to  get  all  the  daylight  they  could  in 
which  to  find  out  something  more  of  the  sad  fate  of  McDon- 
ald and  Davis. 

As  soon  as  dinner  was  disposed  of,  the  sentries  posted 
and  the  mules  and  horses  picketed  near  the  wagons,  several , 
details  were  made  by  the  Adjutant  to  search  through  the 
creek  bottom,  and  a  detachment  of  the  cavalry  ordered  to 
scour  the  open  prairie  on  all  sides,  to  find  out  if  possible  the 
secret  of  the  bloody  pants. 

In  about  half  an  hour  after  all  the  details  had  left  the 
camp,  one  of  the  cavalry  soldiers  of  the  searching  party 
returned,  rode  up  to  a  group  of  officers  who  were  smoking 
their  pipes  around  a  blazing  fire  of  old  logs,  near  the  bank  of 
the  creek,  and  reported  that  some  of  the  infantry  had  just 
found  two  dead  horses  and  an  empty  mail  sack  down  in  the 
bottom. 

"  The  letters  have  all  been  torn  open,"  said  the  trooper, 
"  here  is  one  I  picked  up  (handing  it  to  the  Adjutant  who 
stood  by)  signed  by  Col.  Crosby.  Three  or  four  of  the  men 
say  they  know  the  horses,  and  that  they  are  the  same  ones 
that  McDonald  and  Davis  rode  away  from  Camp  Supply — 
two  bays — they  are  nearly  eaten  up  by  the  wolves,  but  I  guess 
there's  enough  of  their  skin  left  to  tell  their  color." 

"  In  which  direction,"  said  the  Adjutant,  "up  or  down 
the  stream." 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  183 

11  Up  the  creek,"  he  replied.  "You  see  that  dead  Cot- 
tonwood,"  pointing  to  a  tree  whose  top  could  be  seen  above 
the  banks  of  the  stream  less  than  an  eighth  of  a  mile  away. 
"Well,  right  there,  there  is  a  little  open  spot,  near  the  tree, 
and  up  the  creek,  two  or  three  rods  from  it,  are  what  is  left 
of  the  horses  in  the  brush — you  can't  miss  it  because  a  good 
many  of  the  men  have  gathered  around  there.  Look !  you 
can  see  some  of  them  now  out  on  the  prairie,  opposite  the 
place." 

The  soldier  rode  back  up  the  creek  after  imparting  this 
information,  and  all  of  the  officers  who  were  not  on  duty 
ordered  their  horses  and  started  for  the  "  deadCottonwood." 

In  a  few  moments  the  place  indicated  by  the  soldier  was 
reached,  where  the  commanding  officer  and  Col.  Keogh  with 
about  twenty  men  were  found. 

Lying  in  a  thicket  of  hazel,  close  by  the  water,  were  the 
two  horses  with  the  flesh  partially  eaten  off  their  bones,  and 
a  small  canvas  mail  bag  fastened  to  an  overhanging  limb — 
where  it  had  evidently  caught  in  an  attempt  to  throw  it  in — 
was  dragging  in  the  stream. 

The  contents  of  the  mail  sack  were  strewed  over  the 
ground  in  every  direction,  the  letters  torn  open,  and  the  dis- 
patches from  the  government  a  mass  of  pulp  on  the  edge  of 
the  stream.  A  few  cartridge  shells  were  scattered  around, 
and  from  the  tracks  in  the  soft  mud  of  the  bottom,  it  could 
easily  be  seen  that  a  stand  had  been  made  at  this  point  by 
the  unfortunate  men. 


184  STORIES  OF  THE 

The  Indians  knew,  as  early  as  that  time,  that  letters 
occasionally  contained  money,  and  that  fact  accounted  for 
the  demoralized  condition  of  the  ' '  scouts' "  dispatches.  The 
numerous  raids  of  the  savages  on  the  Overland  Stage  Routes 
had  taught  them  the  value  of  a  mail  sack — they  evidently 
thought  to  profit  by  their  experience  in  this  instance,  for  these 
pirates  of  the  prairies,  while  they  are  opposed  to  the  encroach- 
ments of  the  white  man  within  their  domain,  accept  with 
avidity  all  the  conveniences  which  civilization  brings  to  them. 
They  had  learned  the  value  of  our  medium  of  exchange 
for  the  power  it  gives  them  to  secure  from  the  trader  those 
things  they  covet,  at  a  fairer  equivalent  than  in  the  uncertain 
complications  of  direct  barter ;  so  that  money  now  taken 
from  their  prisoners  is  no  longer  destroyed  as  worthless,  or 
thrown  away,  but  has  assumed  a  value  which  is  being  more 
perfectly  understood  every  year,  without  a  labored  study  of 
political  economy. 

The  scattered  mail  was  carefully  collected,  put  in  the 
original  sack  and  sent  back  to  camp,  while  the  search  for 
further  developments  in  this  melancholy  episode  was  con- 
tinued through  the  timber  on  the  margin  of  the  creek,  and 
upon  the  broad  prairie  on  either  side,  but  night  came  on 
without  anything  new  being  discovered,  and  early  next  morn- 
ing the  train  went  on  its  way  to  Fort  Dodge. 

The  search,  of  course  was  reluctantly  abandoned,  as  not 
even  the  solution  of  the  mystery  which  now  seemed  almost 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.     >  185 

within  the  grasp  of  those  whose  interest  had  been  so  thor- 
oughly awakened,  could  subordinate  the  duty  of  the  train 
for  a  single  day. 

The  train  reached  Fort  Dodge  early  the  following  after- 
noon and  commenced  taking  in  its  immense  freight  of  corn 
and  oats  immediately,  in  order  to  return  as  soon  as  possible 
to  the  spot  where  McDonald  and  Davis  had  evidently  given 
up  then-  lives. 

A  short  rest  of  a  few  hours  for  the  men,  while  some  re- 
pairs were  being  made  to  the  paraphenalia  of  the  train,  was  all 
the  delay  permitted  by  the  commanding  officer,  and  by  noon 
the  long  column  of  wagons  rolled  out  once  more  with  now  a 
double  duty  for  its  mission. 

The  camping  place  was  made  at  the  same  spot  on  Mul- 
berry Creek  where  it  had  camped  before,  and  where  the 
"  scouts'"  horses  and  the  mail  were  found. 

The  creek  was  reached  about  four  o'clock  that  afternoon 
— too  late  for  any  active  work,  and  the  command  retired 
eager  for  the  first  glimpse  of  morning. 

As  soon  as  it  was  fairly  daylight,  the  animals  were  pick- 
eted within  the  line  of  sentries,  all  the  usual  precautions  being 
taken  to  prevent  a  surprise  by  the  Indians,  and  breakfast  dis- 
posed of,  every  effort  was  made  to  find  the  bodies  of  the 
missing  Scouts,  as  all  felt  certain  they  had  been  killed  in  that 
vicinity,  and  left  where  they  had  fallen,  for  the  Indians  have 
no  compunctions  in  leaving  a  white  man  food  for  the  wolves 
when  they  have  secured  his  scalp. 


186  STORIES  OF  THE 

Every  available  man  in  the  whole  command— civilian 
and  soldier— was  detailed  to  go  carefully  over  the  whole 
country  within  a  couple  of  miles  of  the  camp,  in  parties  suf- 
ficiently strong  to  protect  themselves  from  any  small  number 
of  Indians  that  might  dash  down  upon  them  from  the  hills, 
while  the  region  within  that  radius  was  pretty  well  picketed 
and  overlooked  by  the  sentries,  who  were  stationed  on  all  the 
highest  points  of  the  bluffs,  and  could  see  the  enemy  no  mat- 
ter what  direction  they  might  come  from,  and  give  the  alarm 
by  firing  a  gun,  which  would  of  course  give  all  those  who 
were  out,  ample  time  to  prepare  for  any  contemplated  attack. 

The  search  was  continued  all  day  without  results,  until 
just  before  sun-down,  when  a  party  of  cavalry  that  had  ven- 
tured out  at  a  greater  distance  than  the  rest  of  the  command, 
sent  a  detachment  back  to  camp  with  the  news  that  they  had 
found  the  remains  of  the  scouts,  and  orders  to  return  with  a 
wagon  to  bring  them  in. 

The  commanding  officer,  Colonel  Keogh,  and  four  or  five 
others,  upon  the  receipt  of  this  intelligence,  mounted  their 
horses  and  rode  out  to  the  place  indicated  by  the  soldier,  who 
remained  to  conduct  the  wagon  and  the  escort  of  infantry  that 
had  been  ordered  to  go  with  him. 

After  a  brisk  gallop  of  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  the  officers 
reached  the  company  of  cavalry  who  had  been  dismounted 
and  were  lying  on  the  ground,  discussing  the  terrible  fight 
that  must  have  taken  place  before  McDonald  or  Davis  sue- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  187 

cumbed,  as  their  pluck  and  desperate  character  under  such 
circumstances  were  well  known. 

Near  where  the  squadron  of  cavalry  had  halted,  on  the 
side  of  a  hill  sloping  toward  the  creek,  were  discovered  the 
ghastly  skeletons  of  the  unfortunate  scouts,  bleaching  in  the 
cold  winter  sun.  A  leg  had  been  dragged  here,  and  an  arm 
there  by  the  half  famished  wolves,  who  had  devoured  every 
particle  of  flesh  off  the  bones  of  the  two  men.  One  of  the 
skulls,  supposed  to  have  been  Davis',  was  only  found  after  a 
diligent  search,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  where  it  had  been 
carried  by  a  wolf  and  then  dropped. 

The  other  skull,  McDonald's,  was  crushed  into  atoms, 
and  was  found  near  the  remainder  of  his  skeleton. 

Davis  had  been  shot  through  the  head  at  least  three 
times,  as  that  number  of  bullet  holes  were  plainly  discerna- 
ble,  and  on  the  back  of  it  great  chips  had  been  hacked  out  as 
if  done  with  an  axe. 

There  was  nothing  to  indicate  in  the  surroundings  of  the 
place  where  the  remains  of  the  two  skeletons  were  found,  that 
that  spot  had  been  their  last  stand ;  it  was  evident  they  had 
met  their  death  elsewhere,  and  had  been  dragged  to  where 
they  were  lying  by  the  wolves,  but  as  it  was  too  late  to  in- 
vestigate further,  the  matter  was  abandoned  for  the  present. 

Nearly  all  of  the  bones  of  both  men  were  collected, 
wrapped  in  a  rubber  poncho  and  taken  to  camp,  where  they 
were  covered  over  with  a  pile  of  rocks  to  prevent  the  wolves 
from  scattering  them  over  the  prairie  again,  and  left  until  the 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  188 

train  returned  from  Camp  Supply  when  they  were  taken  to 
Fort  Dodge  and  given  a  Christian  burial. 

The  next  morning  the  train  went  on  to  its  destination,  and 
a  few  days  afterward  returned  and  camped  on  the  old  ground 
to  seek  for  further  developments.  On  the  evening  of  that  day 
the  Commanding  Officer  with  Colonel  Keogh  and  two  or 
three  others,  discovered  the  exact  spot  where  the  brave  scouts 
had  met  their  death  in  the  thick  brush  more  than  a  mile  from 
where  their  skeletons  had  been  found.  A  scarred  and  blotted 
tree,  from  one  of  the  limbs  of  which  was  suspended  a  bloody 
rope,  stood  alone  in  a  little  opening  on  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
encompassed  by  rocky  bluffs,  from  the  top  of  which  could  be 
seen  Fort  Dodge  and  the  silent  waters  of  the  Arkansas. 

The  rough  bark  of  this  tree  was  torn  by  a  hundred  bul- 
lets, and  its  gnarled  trunk  pierced  by  as  many  arrows.  At 
its  foot  was  lying  a  broken  spear,  and  the  ground  all  round 
was  covered  with  cartridge  shells.  Dark  patches,  that  had 
once  been  little  pools  of  blood,  matted  the  dead  grass  at  its 
roots,  all  of  which  told  more  expressively  than  any  language 
the  story  of  the  horrid  scene  that  had  been  enacted  there. 

A  few  of  these  mute  witnesses  were  collected,  and  the 
party  returned  to  camp  having  fulfilled  its  mission,  but  the 
thoughts  of  the  awful  and  hopeless  fight  that  had  broken  the 
silence  of  that  winter  prairie  settled  a  feeling  of  sadness  over 
the  whole  command. 

After  the  battle  of  the  Washita,  and  white  winged  peace 
brought  the  tribes  in  friendly  relations  with  the  white  man 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  189 

once  more,  some  of  the  facts  in  this  tragedy  were  elicited 
from  the  very  Indians  who  had  taken  part  in  it. 

From  them  was  learned  the  story  of  the  fight  in  this 
wise:  "A  party  of  Arrapahoes,  numbering  nearly  eighty, 
discovered  the  two  scouts  about  sixteen  miles  from  Fort 
Dodge,  early  in  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  after  they 
had  left  Camp  Supply.  The  Indians  tried  to  surround  them 
on  the  open  prairie  before  they  could  reach  Mulberry  Creek 
but  McDonald  and  Davis  were  too  wary,  knowing  full  well 
the  terrible  consequences  if  they  permitted  themselves  to  be 
taken  alive. 

' '  The  savages  circled  around  them  but  did  hot  fire  a  shot, 
hoping,  as  they  all  the  time  drew  nearer,  to  surround  them 
before  they  could  reach  the  creek. 

' '  It  was  a  terrible  race  for  life,  and  all  the  cunning  and 
strategy  of  the  Indian  and  white  man  was  called  into  requisi- 
tion, each  endeavoring  to  circumvent  the  other. 

"The  scouts  rode  for  the  friendly  timber  on  the  creek  in 
front  of  them — but  still  so  far  away — with  all  the  confidence 
of  their. nature  stretched  to  its  utmost,  feeling  certain  that 
could  they  but  reach  it,  the  Indians  would  be  outwitted  by 
the  tactics  of  the  white  man. 

"But  it  was  destined  to  be  otherwise.  Not  a  shot  had 
been  fired  yet  on  either  side,  and  the  scouts  saw  the  refuge 
of  the  dead  and  leafless  trees  almost  within  reach — they  saw 
also  in  the  hazy  distance  the  flag  at  Fort  Dodge,  gleaming 
and  twinkling  in  the  sunlight  as  they  reached  the  crest  of  the 


190  STORIES  OF  THE 

hill  towering  above  the  narrow  bottom  of  Mulberry  Creek, 
when,  at  a  sign  from  the  chief,  a  young  warrior  stopped, 
jumped  off  his  pony  and  pulled  up  his  rifle  just  as  McDonald, 
who  was  a  little  in  advance,  entered  the  low  sumac  bushes 
skirting  the  timber.  The  Indian  fired,  killed  Davis'  horse 
and  the  scout  found  himself  on  foot,  with  twelve  long  miles 
between  where  he  stood  and  Fort  Dodge. 

"The  Indians  gave  a  yell  of  exultation  as  they  saw  Davis' 
horse  fall,  and  in  another  instant  McDonald's  horse  was  shot 
too,  the  red  devils  having  purposely  avoided  hitting  the  men 
before,  determined  to  take  them  alive  if  possible. 

"  Here  the  two  scouts  stood  at  bay  for  a  few  moments, 
utilizing  the  carcasses  of  their  dead  animals  for  a  breastwork, 
from  behind  which  they  killed  two  of  the  murderous  fiends  in 
front  of  them. 

"One  of  the  Indians  now  rode  up  to  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  where  the  scouts  stood  bravely  together,  and  made 
a  sign  to  McDonald  to  talk  with  him.  McDonald  stepped 
out  a  rod  or  two  in  advance  of  the  spot  where  he  had  stood 
to  listen  to  the  Indian,  who  said  to  him : 

'  Leave  Davis  and  come  to  us — you  are  our  brother — we 
do  not  want  to  kill  you ;  we  will  give  you  your  life  to  get  the 
white  man's  scalp.' 

"  But  McDonald  heroically  answered  the  savage,  while  he 
stood  in  front  of  Davis,  that  the  white  man  was  his  brother 
too — that  he  could  die  with  him,  but  could  not  leave  him ;  he 
then  pulled  the  trigger  of  his  rifle,  which  he  had  drawn  up  as 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  191 

he  said  this,  and  sent  the  ball  into  the  very  throat  of  the  In- 
dian who  had  made  the  proposition. 

"This  exasperated  the  remainder  of  the  Indians,  who 
rushed  upon  the  unfortunate  scouts,  and  drove  them  from 
their  little  shelter,  up  the  creek  to  the  lone  tree  where  they 
laid  down  their  lives.  And  there  they  stood  shoulder  to 
shoulder  until  McDonald  fell ;  then  Davis  fired  shot  after  shot 
as  rapidly  as  possible,  killing  two  more  Indians,  one  of  whom 
was  the  chief,  "(whose  grave  was  found  with  the  others  by  the 
train  in  the  sand-hills  of  the  Ciinarron)." 

The  Indians  never  would  tell  the  meaning  of  the  bloody 
rope,  but  that  it  was  an  important  factor  in  the  orgies  which 
took  p'ace  over  the  dead  bodies  of  the  scouts  no  one  can 
doubt. 

The  broken  spear,  arrow  heads,  and  some  of  the  car- 
tridge shells  the  writer  has  preserved  in  the  East,  which  will 
be  transferred  to  the  rooms  of  the  Kansas  State  Historical 
Society,  as  has  the  letter  from  General  Sheridan,  (found  in 
the  scattered  mail  on  Mulberry  Creek  as  related,)  herewith 
copied : 

HEADQUARTERS  DEPARTMENT  OF  THE  MISSOURI, 

CAMP  SUPPLY,  November  3rd,  1868. 

MY  DEAR  MAJOR  INM  AN  :  I  send  out  two  scouts  this  even- 
ing to  see  how  you  are  getting  along  with  the  train.     Send 
them  back  in  advance  of  you  to  let  me  know  where  you  are. 
**###### 

Yours  truly,  P.  H.  SHERIDAN, 

Major  General. 


192  STORIES  OF  THE 

The  truth  of  this  tragedy,  in  all  its  details,  will  probably 
never  be  known,  for  the  Indians,  who  were  the  principal  ac. 
tors,  were  reticent  as  is  their  wont,  and  only  what  has  been 
related,  in  a  rude  manner,  could  be  gathered  from  them. 

It  is  the  impression  of  the  writer,  however,  that  the  un- 
fortunate men  were  captured  and  tortured,  the  evidence  all 
pointing  so  strongly  in  that  direction — but  this  the  Indians 
denied.  But  if  they  really  were  killed  as  stated  by  the  sav- 
ages, who,  even  then,  in  the  quiet  of  his  own  home,  can  re- 
alize what  the  scouts  suffered,  as  they  stood  shoulder  to  shoul- 
der against  that  scarred  and  blasted  tree  hopelessly  defending 
themselves  from  the  overpowering  number  of  red  fiends  op- 
posed, with  the  fort  in  sight  from  the  top  of  the  bluffs  just 
above  them ;  or  how  immeasurably  less  can  be  imagined  the 
feelings  of  Davis  as  he  saw  his  faithful  comrade  fall — how 
despairingly  he  must  have  clutched  his  rifle  as  his  stock  of 
cartridges  was  fast  diminishing  ;  how  earnestly  he  must  have 
looked  toward  the  horizon  for  some  hope  of  help  that  never 
came.  As  the  wind  was  sadly  sighing  his  requiem,  he  sunk 
to  his  death  as  the  last  gleam  of  golden  light  flooded  the 
hills — so  the  horrid  picture  before  him  ended  in  eternity. 

In  the  campaign  of  1868-9,  in  which  the  above  related 
incidents  occurred,  were  many  men  who  are  now  living  in 
Kansas  who  took  a  prominent  part  in  the  stormy  times  of 
those  dreary  months,  who,  if  this  short  sketch  should  hap- 
pen to  fall  under  their  eyes,  will  recognize  the  facts  in 
the  death  of  the  scouts  as  given.  Their  names  would 
occupy  too  much  space  if  it  even  were  possible  to  collegt 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  193 

them.  Many  of  them,  too,  among  whom  was  the  brave  Col- 
onel Keogh,  and  other  gallant  officers  and  soldiers  of  the  fa- 
mous Seventh  Cavalry— were  killed  in  the  disastrous  battle 
of  the  Rose  Bud  in  Custer's  reckless  and  unsupported  charge 
on  the  camp  of  Sitting  Bull.  Many  of  those,  too,  who  par- 
ticipated in  the  arduous  work  of  that  winter's  campaign  have 
held,  and  are  now  filling  responsible  positions  all  over  the 
state.  Among  them  are  Messrs.  C.  C.  Sprigg,  J.  F.  Dyer, 
and  Geo.  Huyck,  respectively  Clerk,  Register  of  Deeds, 
and  Treasurer  of  Ellsworth  county,  and  Hon.  Paul  T.  Cur- 
lett,  Chairman  of  the  Board  of  Commissioners,  Pawnee  coun- 
ty. Pat  Sherman,  on  the  police  force  of  Topeka,  was  Chief 
Wagon-Master  of  the  train  that  moved  all  winter  between 
Dodge  City  and  Camp  Supply,  and  Larry  Dieger,  late  Marshal 
of  Dodge  City,  was  his  assistant. 


18 


194  STORIES  OF  THE 


"WAL  HENDERSON." 

In  one  of  the  busy  little  mining  camps  just  over  the  range 
in  New  Mexico,  there  prowled  around  about  ten  years  ago, 
a  notorious  character,  whose  life  was  made  up  of  desperate 
adventures,  and  whose  tragic  death,  which  is  the  subject  of 
this  sketch,  illustrates  the  inevitable  fate  of  the  average  bor- 
der bully. 

"  Wai  Henderson"  was  born  and  "raised" — as  he 
termed  it — in  Missouri,  and  came  over  the  mountains  into 
the  New  Mexico  mines  from  Colorado  soon  after  the  first  dis- 
covery of  gold  in  the  Moreno  hills,  where  he  staked  off  a 
claim  in  Humbug  Gulch,  and  commenced  working  in  an  ap_ 
parently  honest  way.  He  was  a  rough,  illiterate  fellow,  pos- 
sessing the  physique  of  a  giant,  courageous  as  a  she  grizzly 
with  cubs,  and  such  a  dead  shot  with  his  revolver,  that  he 
soon  became  a  terror  to  the  whole  mountain  population ;  in 
fact  he  was  a  desperado  in  its  fullest  sense,  without  one  re- 
deeming quality,  except  that  he  was  kind  to  his  dog,  a  mangy, 
spotted,  wicked-looking  cur,  fit  companion  for  such  a  surly 
master. 

Any  more  intercourse  with  Wai,  than  was  absolutely  nec- 
essary, was  carefully  avoided  by  every  one,  and  such  an  idea 
as  getting  into  a  dispute  with  him — who  would  rather  shoot 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  195 

than  eat — never  entered  the  heads  of  those  who  worked 
claims  in  the  vicinity,  so  that,  virtually,  he  commanded  the 
respect  of  a  king.  One  afternoon  Wai  was  seized  with  a  de- 
sire to  start  off  on  a  little  prospecting  tour  to  another  portion 
of  the  range  where  he  suspected  the  existence  of  a  quartz 
lead,  so  he  left  his  claim  in  the  "  Gulch  "  only  partially  open- 
ed, never  dreaming  for  an  instant  that  any  one  would  have 
the  temerity  to  jump  it  in  his  absence,  after  they  discovered 
he  owned  it,  and  which  he  took  good  care  they  could  easily 
learn,  for  before  he  went  away  he  asked  one  of  his  more  ed- 
ucated neighboring  miners  to  ''come  over  and  cut  his  name" 
on  a  dead  pine  stump  that  stood  near  the  mouth  of  his  pit. 

This  friend  was  nothing  loth  to  oblige  his  surly  comrade, 
so  just  after  dinner  he  came  over,  when  with  his  keen  bowie 
knife  he  slashed  out  a  huge 

"WAl  henDerSoN  his  KLAime," 
on  the  dead  stump. 

It  took  him  nearly  two  1  ours  to  complete  his  literary 
labors,  while  Wai  stood  by  impatiently  watching  him,  who 
when  his  friend  had  just  finished  the  last  touch  of  his  rude 
letters,  remarked  : 

"  Well,  I  guess  there  haint  no  one  goin  for  to  touch  that 
thar,"  and  swinging  his  pick  and  shovel  over  his  shoulder  he 
whistled  to  his  dog,  and  then  taking  his  bearings  by  a  look  at 
the  sun  started  down  the  canon  on  a  sort  of  shuffling  trot, 
and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

He  was  gone  three  days  and  when  he  returned  found 


196  STORIES  OF  THE 

that  his  ground  had  been  "jumped"  by  a   party  of  Irish 
miners  who  had  come  into  the  diggings  during  his  absence. 

"  Wai  in  as  quiet  a  manner  as  his  bull-dog  nature  per- 
mitted, told  them  "to  git!  "  But  they  swore  that  they  would 
hold  it  in  spite  of  him,  and  if  he  was  as  big  as  "  Finn  MaCool " 
they  would  fight  him. 

Wai  smothered  his  rage  for  the  moment,  cooly  walked 
off  to  his  cabin,  and  arming  himself  with  two  revolvers  a  Spen- 
cer carbine,  and  a  wicked  looking  IXL  blade  started  back  to 
the  gulch,  determined  to  drive  the  intruders  away  or  kill  them 
if  necessary — it  mattered  little  as  to  choice. 

"  Git  out  of  this  ! — quick!— jump  !  or  I'll  fill  you  full 
o'holes !  "  was  "  Wai's  "  greeting  as  he  came  in  sight  of  the  in- 
truders on  his  return  ;  upon  which  one  of  the  plucky,  but  un- 
fortunate Irishmen  made  a  break  for  Wai,  to  finish  him  by  a 
well  directed  blow  from  his  miner's  shovel. 

Wai  quick  as  thought  brought  down  his  revolver  and 
killed  his  man  instantly — the  bullet  hitting  him  in  the  fore- 
head directly  between  the  eyes — a  spot  that  was  "Wai's"  in- 
variable target,  and  which  in  his  list  of  nearly  a  score  of  vic- 
tims, he  never  had  failed  to  center. 

The  two  now  thoroughly  frightened  companions  of  the 
dead  miner  fled  to  camp  and  told  the  story  of  the  murder. 

"Wai"  believing  that  he  would  have  a  crowd  on  his 
heels  in  a  little  while,  made  his  way  hurriedly  to  his  cabin, 
proposing  to  "  lite  out"  for  a  while  as  he  said,  but  a  mob  of 
plucky  men  intercepted  him,  and  he  was  arrested,  taken  to 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  J97 

camp,  confined  in  a  little  log  building  and  a  guard  placed 
around  it. 

As  the  news  spread  around  the  hills  of  "Wai's''  latest 
exploit,  the  Irish  miners  came  flocking  in  from  all  directions, 
and  the  people  of  the  town  expected  a  general  outbreak  be 
tween  the  Irish  and  American  element,  if  any  resistance  was 
offered  to  the  infuriated  friends  of  the  murdered  man  in  their 
attempt  to  take  Wai  from  the  improvised  jail,  which  they 
openly  proclaimed  they  intended  to  do  as  soon  as  night  came 
on. 

The  building  used  for  the  incarceration  of  Wai,  was  an 
abandoned  log  store  about  sixteen  feet  square  ;  the  interstices 
of  the  logs  were  chinked  with  mud,  and  the  whole  surmount- 
ed by  a  brush  and  dirt  roof.  In  the  corner  of  the  room — 
after  the  Mexican  fashion — a  huge,  but  rude  fireplace  had 
been  constructed  of  stone  and  earth,  from  which  a  large  chim- 
ney composed  of  the  same  material  communicated  with  the 
open  air  through  the  roof  above. 

No  sooner  had  the  heavy  door  closed  on  Wai  than  he 
began  an  accurate  survey  of  his  quarters,  with  a  view  of  es- 
caping as  soon  as  the  mob  he  confidently  expected  should 
make  their  appearence. 

One  glance  at  the  immense  fire-place,  which  yawned  like 
the  opening  to  a  cave,  and  a  look  at  the  clear  sky  above 
through  the  chimney,  satisfied  him  that  he  would  be  out  of 
his  prison,  and  up  some  mountain  gulch  before  his  intended 
captors  could  think  twice . 


198  STORIES  OF  THE 

Shortly  after  dark  a  motley  crowd  of  rough  miners,  half 
crazed  with  the  villainous  liquors  they  had  been  drinking  all 
the  afternoon  assembled  at  the  jail,  and  ordered  the  guard 
away,  fired  their  pistols  in  the  air,  and  made  the  very  hills 
ring  with  their  curses  and  imprecations  upon  the  prisoner 
within  the  little  hut. 

Wai  meanwhile  had  determined  to  escape,  and  in  fact  at 
the  very  time  the  crowd  had  reached  the  door,  was  on  the 
roof  quietly  waiting  for  the  mob  to  make  a  rush  inside,  when 
he  proposed  to  leap  to  the  ground  from  the  rear  of  the  build 
ing. 

He  waited  for  the  signal,  which  soon  came  in  the  shape 
of  a  volley  of  pistol  and  carbine  shots,  and  a  wild  yell  from 
the  would-be  avengers,  who  with  a  desperate  rush  made  for 
the  door  of  the  jail,  which  under  the  pressure  flew  from  its 
fastenings  and  swung  open  with  a  loud  report,  throwing  half 
a  dozen  of  thfe  mob  upon  the  dirt  floor. 

For  a  moment  or  two  no  one  could  enter,  as  those  nearest 
the  door  became  wedged  together,  while  the  pressure  from 
the  crowd  in  the  rear  held  them  more  securely  imprisoned 
than  Wai,  who  at  this  juncture  jumped  from  the  roof,  and  to 

use  his  own  expression  "  lit  out  d d  lively." 

When  the  crowd  became  aware  that  Wai  had  escaped, 
they  threatened  to  lynch  the  guard,  and  but  for  the  interces- 
sion of  some  of  the  cooler-headed  and  less  drunken  members 
of  the  party,  no  doubt  their  threats  would  have  been  carried 
into  execution. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  199 

They  divided  up  into  little  bands  and  scoured  the  camp, 
visiting  every  suspected  house  or  hole  where  their  game 
might  possibly  be  secreted,  and  it  was  not  until  early  morn- 
ing that  the  search  was  abandoned. 

The  following  day  the  events  of  the  preceding  night  were 
fully  discussed,  and  as  many  conjectures  were  suggested  in 
relation  to  Wai's  escape  and  present  whereabouts,  as  there 
were  groups  of  men ;  each  had  his  own  theory,  each  knew 
exactly  how  and  when  he  got  away. 

Old  Sam  Bartlett,  a  short,  thick-set,  grizzly,  veteran  min- 
er, who  had  whacked  bulls  on  the  Santa  Fe  trail,  had  lived 
for  months  on  hard  tack  and  bacon  in  the  mountains  of  Cal- 
ifornia and  in  Nevada,  who  had  years  before  filibustered 
with  Walker  in  Nicaragua,  and  who,  altogether,  had  seen 
about  as  eventful  a  life  as  any  man  of  his  age,  expressed  it  as 
his  opinion  ' '  that  Wai  went  up  that  thar  chimbly,  and  by 
this  here  time  was  well  heeled  somewhar  near  camp  surround- 
ed by  a  battery  of  small  arms,  and  ready  to  fight  the  whole 
outfit." 

Sam's  surmises  proved  true,  as  it  afterward  appeared, 
for  no  sooner  had  Wai  made  good  his  escape,  than  he  went  to 
his  own  den  for  a  moment,  to  secure  arms  and  ammunition, 
and  then  to  an  abandoned  tunnel  about  a  mile  up  the  near- 
est gulch,  where  he  immediately  commenced  to  fortify  his 
position,  and  prepared  to  sell  his  life  as  dearly  as  possible  if 
the  mob  pursued  him,  or,  as  he  afterward  said:  "Did  not 


200  STORIES  OF  THE 

intend  to  pass  in  his  checks,  until  he  had  made  a  sieve  of  a 
few  of  'em." 

The  Mexican  woman  with  whom  he  lived  proved  a  faith- 
ful ally,  and  secretly  conveyed,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
night,  food  and  his  blankets,  never  revealing  to  a  soul  where 
her  Americano  was,  and  always  earnestly  denying  any 
knowledge  of  the  fugitive. 

For  nearly  a  week  Wai  lived  in  the  abandoned  mining 
tunnel,  at  the  expiration  of  which  time,  when  the  excitement 
had  somewhat  subsided,  and  it  being  generally  supposed  that 
he  had  fled  the  country,  he  quietly  walked  into  camp  at  mid- 
night, broke  open  a  stable,  took  out  a  horse,  saddled  him  and 
galloped  off  to  Taos,  which  place  he  reached  next  morning. 
In  justice  to  Wai,  let  it  be  known  he  was  not  a  professional 
horse-thief—  he  had  not  gotten  so  low  as  that — but  having  per- 
fect faith  in  the  old  saw  that  ' '  self-preservation  is  the  first  law 
of  nature,"  seized  upon  the  only  reliable  means  to  escape 
strangling  by  a  mob,  and  on  his  arrival  at  Taos,  where  he 
felt  secure,  returned  the  animal  to  his  owner  with  thanks, 
complimenting  him  on  his  architectural  skill  in  constructing  a 
stable  that  could  be  entered  so  easily,  and  upon  the  endur- 
ance of  his  horse  that'had  carried  him  so  well. 

~A  little  more^  than  a  month  later,  the  camp  was  some- 
what startled  one  afternoon  at  seeing  Wai  come  riding  down 
the  main  street  mounted  on  a  Mexican  pony,  with  four  revol- 
vers buckled  around  his  waist,  and  a  carbine  slung  across  his 
back.  Halting  in  front  of  Joe  Stenson's  saloon,  he  alighted 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  201 

and  with  a  devil-may-care  sort  of  a  nod  to  the  loafers  hang- 
ing  around,  invited  them  all  in  to  take  a   drink.     To   the 
crowd  at  the  bar  he  related  his  adventures  since  he  had  been 
among  them,  said  he  was  tired  of  Taos,  and  came  back  to 
look  after  his  mining  interests  up  Humbug  Gulch  which  he 
thought  he  had  neglected  too  long,  and  added  "if  any  gen- 
tleman (?)"  were  sympathizers  with  the  would  be  stranglers, 
he  would  be  pleased  to  step  out  on  the  street  and  give  them 
an  exhibition  of  his  peculiar  manner  of  managing  the  porta- 
ble battery  he  had  provided  himself  with      No  one  seeming 
particularly  anxious  of  witnessing  the  proffered  entertainment, 
war  was  not  declared,  and  after  a  round  or  two  of  Taos  light- 
ning, as  whisky  was  called  in  those  days,  Wai  quietly  mount- 
ed his  horse  and  made  his  way  toward  his  little  log  hut, 
where  he  was  met  by  his  faithful  Senora  and  provided  with  a 
bountiful  repast  of  tortillas  and  frijoles  (corncake  and  beans). 
The  excitement  in  camp  gradually  exhausted  itself,  and 
it  was  mutually  agreed  that  Wai  should  not  be  molested  if  he 
kept  away  from  Humbug  Gulch. 

Wai  apparently  accepted  the  situation,  and  turned  his 
attention  to  the  laudable  ambition  of  supplying  the  camp  with 
cord-wood,  and  almost  any  day  thereafter  he  could  be  seen 
coming  into  town  with  his  load,  which  brought  him  a  fair 
price  and  ready  sale. 

One  day  about  two  months  after  he  had  settled  himself 
down  to  legitimate  pursuits,  while  he  was  sitting  in  Stenson's 
saloon^fatigued  by  a  somewhat  arduous  morning's  work,  a 


202  STORIES  OF  THE 

party  of  Irish  miners  entered,  all  of  whom  were  more  or  less 
under  the  influence  of  liquor,  and  after  bandying  words  with 
VVal  in  reference  to  his  claim  and  the  murder  of  their  com- 
panion, one,  rather  more  bold  than  discreet,  approached  Wai 
holding  a  large  rock  and  said  :  "Be  jabers,  Wai,  you  would 
look  better  dead  than  alive,  *'  when  Wai,  as  quick  as  thought, 
drew  his  pistol  and  drawing  a  bead  on  the  Irishman,  said : 
"Drop  that  stone." 

The  stone  dropped,  Wai  quietly  resumed  his  seat  with- 
out another  word,  replaced  his  pistol  in  its  scabbard,  cooly 
lighted  his  pipe  and  commenced  to  smoke.  The  gang  were 
evidently  bent  on  mischief,  but  Wai  could  not  be  intimidated 
and  made  no  move  to  leave  his  seat,  but  kept  his  keen  eye 
on  every  act  of  the  drunken  mob. 

He  listened  cooly  and  indifferently  for  a  while  to  their 
coarse  jets  and  braggadocio  threats  cast  at  him,  but  there 
comes  a  moment  when  "patience  ceases  to  be  a  virtue" 
and  comes  soonest  to  men  of  such  caliber  as  Wai,  and  when 
another  of  the  belligerents  approached  too  near  with  an  out- 
rageous remark,  Wai  jumped  to  his  feet  and  said:  "By 
G — d,  I  think  I'll  kill  one  of  you  just  for  luck,  and  put  a 
stop  to  th"isd — d  nonsense,"  and  whipping  out  his  pistol  fired, 
the  ball  as  always,  taking  effect  in  the  bridge  of  his  victim's 
nose,  passing  through  the  right  eye  and  coming  out  in  front 
of  his  ear." 

At  the  report  of  the  pistol  a  crowd  rushed  in,  but  no 
one  attempted  to  interfere  with  Wai,  who  took  a  position 


203  STORIES  OF  THE 

against  the  side  of  the  room  and  invited  any  one  who  wanted 
him  to  "  step  right  up,  but  if  anyone  did,  he  would  make  a 
sieve  of  him." 

No  one  desirous  of  being  converted  into  that  useful 
article  just  then,  not  a  soul  stepped  forward. 

The  Alcalde  and  Sheriff  were  sent  for  and  soon  arrived, 
whereupon  Wai  gave  himself  up,  and  was  remanded  to  his 
old  quarters — the  little  log  jail — from  which  he  had  so  suc- 
cessfully made  his  escape  by  way  of  the  huge  chimney,  on  a 
former  occasion. 

The  drunken  companions  of  the  murdered  miner  imme- 
diately upon  the  arrest  of  Wai  started  off  to  muster  up  a 
crowd  of  their  .countrymen,  determined  this  time  to  mete 
out  summary  vengeance  upon  the  assassin  of  their  com- 
rade. 

To  preclude  the  possibility  of  an  escape  on  the  part  of 
the  prisoner,  an  additional  guard  was  employed  to  watch 
the  outside  of  the  jail,  and  two  men  were  posted  on  the 
roof — "no  goin'  up  that  thar  chimbley  this  time." 

Shortly  after  dark  another  mob  composed  of  the  friends 
of  Wai's  last  victim  came  pouring  into  camp  from  the  gulches 
and  hills,  who  proceeded  directly  to  the  jail,  determined  this 
time  that  their  game  should  not  slip  through  their  fingers. 

In  a  few  moments  the  infuriated  and  howling  would-be 
lynchers  forced  the  door  of  the  building  open,  in  the  same 
manner  as  they  had  done  before,  but  their  bird  had  flown — 
Wai  was  not  there  ! 


204  STORIES  OF  THE 

Knowing  the  desperate  character  of  the  men  who  had 
come  to  take  his  life,  Wai  resolved  to  make  a  determined 
effort  to  get  away  from  them,  if  possible,  and  when  he  first 
heard  them  surging  and  howling  in  the  distance,  put  all  his 
quick  wits  at  work  and  soon  decided  what  might  be  done. 

Standing  at  the  side  of  the  door  as  it  was  crushed  from 
its  fastenings,  he  allowed  the  crowd  to  tumble  and  rush  pell- 
mell  into  the  dark  room,  while  he  quietly  slipped  past  them 
out  into  the  street,  walked  slowly  to  the  ^first  corner,  and 
then  shot  into  the  night — and  was  free. 

The  rage  and  disappointment  of  the  exasperated  miners' 
on  the  discovery  that  their  man  had  eluded  them  can  better 
be  imagined  than  described. 

Wai  proceeded  to  his  little  home,  took  one  of  his  horses 
from  the  stable  and  rode  rapidly  out  of  camp  and  over  a 
mountain  trail,  and  in  a  few  hours  was  miles  away  where  he 
found  a  safe  retreat. 

The  disappointed  crowd  on  discovering  that  for  the  pres- 
ent at  least,  Wai  was  beyond  their  power,  slowly  retired  to 
their  homes,  but  first  swore  they  would  kill  Wai  on  sight  if  he 
ever  made  his  appearance  in  camp  again. 

But  a  few  days  elapsed  before  Wai  again  dropped  into 
town,  but  strange  as  it  may  seem  no  attempt  was  made  to 
arrest  him. 

For  some  weeks  everything  about  camp  moved  along 
quietly,  and  it  was  hoped  that  further  disturbance  was  at  an 
end,  but  one  afternoon  while  Wai  was  standing  in  front  of 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  205 

one  of  the  little  stores  that  were  scattered  at  intervals 
through  the  long  main  street  of  the  town,  engaged  in  a  con- 
versation with  a  lot  of  miners  who  had  congregated  there,  a 
horseman  came  galloping  up  the  principal  thoroughfare,  and 
halted  directly  in  front  of  the  door  where  Wai  and  his  com- 
panions were  talking. 

Taking  a  single  glance  at  Wai,  he  exclaimed,  "  you  are 
the  man  I  am  looking  for !  "  and  drawing  his  revolver  com- 
menced shooting.  He  fired  three  shots  in  rapid  succession, 
neither  of  which  however  took  effect,  and  before  he  could 
cock  his  pistol  again,  which  he  was  in  the  act  oi  doing,  Wai 
had  "  drawn  a  bead"  on  him  and  fired. 

The  ball  struck  him  in  the  trigger  thumb  which  was 
thereby  turned,  or  it  would  have  found  its  proper  center 
between  the  eyes.  Finding  himself  disabled,  the  rider  put 
spurs  to  his  horse  and  fled  to  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  near- 
est ravine,  but  soon  returned  dismounted,  as  he  discovered 
he  had  not  been  followed  by  the  terrible  Wai. 

A  crowd  gathered  around  to  shoot  the  wretch  who  had 
so  deliberately  jeopardized  the  lives  of  innocent  citizens — 
but  he  called  out  that  he  was  wounded  and  powerless  and 
"for  God  sake  not  to  kill  him,"  that  he  would  give  himself 
up  quietly  if  he  could  be  permitted  to  see  a  doctor. 

The  doctor  happened  to  be  sitting  in  front  of  his  office 
near  by  who  took  the  man  in,  and  amputated  his  thumb. 

He  was  then  turned  over  to  the  sheriff,  who  placed  him 
19 


206  STORIES  OF  THE 

in  an  'unoccupied  log  building,  and  appointed  a  guard  to 
watch  him. 

During  the  night,  however,  following  in  the  footsteps  of 
the  illustrious  Wai,  he  eluded  the  vigilance  of  the  guard,  made 
good  his  escape,  and  ran  to  the  mountains  where  he  was  re- 
ceived by  his  friends,  who  were  determined  to  protect  him 
from  re-arrest. 

The  following  day  word  was  sent  to  the  doctor  to  come 
out  and  dress  his  wounds,  and  obeying  the  summons  he  found 
him  within  a  hundred  yards  of  his  cabin,  by  the  side  of  a 
mining  ditch,  surrounded  by  an  array  of  pistols,  carbines  and 
knives,  determined  to  resist  any  attempt  to  re-arrest  him. 

The  point  selected  commanded  every  avenue  of  approach 
up  the  mountain  slope,  without  the  garrison  of  one  man  being 
seen. 

Here  he  remained  several  days,  and  announced  to  the 
Alcalde,  through  some  of  his  friends,  that  he  would  die  be- 
fore giving  himself  up  to  the  "  Stranglers,"  but  would  submit 
if  soldiers  were  sent  for  him. 

Upon  this  message  of  defiance  no  further  effort  was  made 
to  capture  him,  and  the  town  lapsed  once  more  into  its  wonted 
quietude.  Even  Henderson  became  remarkaby  docile,  no 
further  disturbances  occurring  between  him  and  the  miners — 
the  trouble  ending,  apparently,  by  mutual  consent. 

Some  months  subsequent  to  the  incidents  related  in  the 
foregoing,  the  little  camp  was  again  thrown  into  a  state  of  ex- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  207 

citement  in  consequence  of  a  report  of  the  robbery  of  the 
mail  in  the  canon  between  Elizabethtown  and  Ute  Creek. 

It  was  bruited  about,  and  proved  true,  that  when  the 
coach  (which  made  tri-weekly  trips  between  the  camp  and  the 
Cimarron,  to  connect  with  the  great  Southern  Overland  Line) 
reached  a  lonely  point  in  the  canon,  where  the  road  was  nar- 
row, and  wound  round  a  side-hill  covered  with  a  dense  growth 
of  scrubby  pines,  three  disguised  men  would  slip  out  and 
order  the  driver  to  halt,  then  without  moving  from  their  place 
on  either  side  of  the  confined  pass  with  their  rifles  pointed 
toward  him,  demand  that  the  express  box  be  thrown  off  from 
the  boot. 

This  modest  request  being  promptly  complied  with,  they 
ordered  the  driver  to  move  on,  much  to  the  relief  of  the 
thoroughly  frightened  conductor,  and  the  two  or  three  pas- 
sengers inside. 

Five  or  six  depredations  of  this  character  were  committed 
in  the  course  of  a  month,  when  the  people  in  camp  began  to 
have  their  suspicions  aroused,  and  many  were  the  conjectures 
as  to  who  the  guilty  parties  could  be. 

A  company  was  formed  to  scour  the  canon,  but  not  even 
a  clue  of  the  highwaymen  could  be  found,  nor  a  place  that 
exhibited  any  signs  of  a  rendezvous. 

This  fact  confirmed  the  suspicions  of  the  law  abiding  por- 
tion of  the  community,  that  there  existed  in  their  midst  and 
neighboring  settlements  at  Ute  Creek,  an  organized  band  of 


208  STORIES  OF  THE 

"  Road  Agents  "  who  started  out  only  on  favorable  opportuni- 
ties for  carrying  on  their  nefarious  purposes. 

It  was  believed  by  many  that  persons  residing  in  Eliza- 
bethtown  kept  watch,  and  advised  their  partners  in  this  crime 
at  Ute  Creek  at  what  time  a  large  shipment  of  gold  would 
probably  be  made,  and  the  number  of  passengers,  with  their 
names,  the  coach  would  carry. 

Wai  absented  himself  from  camp  a  day  or  two  at  a  time, 
and  it  began  to  be  murmured  that  he  could  tell  if  he  would, 
a  great  deal  concerning  these  systematic  robberies ;  and  it 
was  even  hinted  that  he  not  only  indirectly  aided  and  abetted 
the  attacks  on  the  coach,  but  took  an  active  part  himself. 

He  was  very  reticent  on  the  subject,  and  it  was  a  fact 
commented  upon  by  nearly  every  one  in  camp,  that  after  an 
absence  of  two  or  three  days,  he  would  invariably  turn  up 
the  very  morning  after  a  robbery,  with  a  load  of  wood  for 
sale,  and  as  demurely  ride  through  town  on  his  little  wagon 
as  if  such  a  thing  as  an  attack  on  the  coach  the  day  before 
had  never  taken  place. 

Of  course  no  positive  proof  of  his  complicity  could  be  ob- 
tained, yet  it  was  generally  believed  that  he  belonged  to  the 
gang. 

Joe  Stenson — who  kept  the  principal  saloon — and  was 
well  known  throughout  the  Territory,  not  only  on  account  of 
his  size  and  weight,  but  also  in  consequence  of  his  insatiable 
thirst  for  "  bug  juice  "  and  dexterous  manipulation  of  cards, 
was  withal  a  law  abiding  citizen,  and  would  tolerate  nothing 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  209 

that  was  not^  strictly  "  regular"  in  the  eye  of  the  law.  Joe 
wouldn't  steal  a  horse,  or  carry  off  a  red-hot  stove,  but  woe 
to  the  unfortunate  and  confiding  individual  who  sat  down  to 
Joe's  game  with  the  expectation  of  leaving  with  a  cent  in  his 
clothes. 

Joe's  thorough  knowledge  of  Monte,  Faro,  Poker  and 
other  genteel  games,  made  him  as  much  a  terror  behind  the 
green-covered  table  as  a  pack  of  highway  robbers,  and  while 
he  would  not  hesitate  to  fleece  some  unsuspecting  victim  in 
a  gentlemanly  game,  he  had  no  sympathy  with  any  law-break- 
er or  "Road  Agent,"  who  would  halt  a  man  for  his  money 
without  the  farcical  proceeding  of  having  a  little  bout  of 
cards  to  win  it  honorably. 

One  afternoon  while  the  robberies  of  the  mail  coach 
were  at  their  height,  three  or  four  broken  down  gamblers 
and  loafers,  sauntered  into  Stenson's  saloon  and  commenced 
to  discuss  the  last  depredation,  and  the  modus  operandi  of  the 
efficient  agents. 

Prominent  among  the  group  was  Wai ;  each  had  his  the- 
ory to  advance,  and  each  expressed  it  freely. 

Joe  said,  ' 'don't  yer  understand," — a  favorite  phrase 

when  excited — "don't  yer  understand,  the  d d  rascals 

don't  live  a  great  ways  from  this  camp,  and  I  wouldn't  won- 
der if  a  few  of  them — don't  yer  understand — are  right  in 
sight  of  this  shebang  now — don't  yer  understand ;  I  hain't 
got  no  sympathy  for  any  such  work, — don't  yer  understand 


210  STORIES  OF  THE 

— and  would  help  hang  every  mother's  son  of  'em,  by  G — d, 
don't  yer  understand!" 

Old  Sam  Bartlett  expressed  it  "as  his  opinion,  that  Reub 
Jones,  of  Ute  Creek  knowed  all  about  it,  and  was  at  the  head 
of  the  gang." 

Wai  put  in  his  oar  occasionally,  but  from  his  remarks  it 
was  apparent  that  his  sympathy  was  rather  in  favor  of  that 

style  of  robbing,  "than  stealing  it  through  a  d d  old  Faro 

box." 

Words  waxed  high  and  it  was  evident  there  "was  going 
to  be  a  difficult"  as  Kit  Carson  used  to  say. 

Joe  saw  that  trouble  would  ensue  if  the  conversation 
was  not  dropped,  so  desirous  of  putting  an  end  to  it,  turned 
to  Wai  and  said:  "Wai,  we've  had  enough  of  this,  so  come 
on  and  have  a  drink  and  go  home." 

Wai  accepted  the  invitation  and  with  the  closing  remark 

"that  he  considered  the  robbers  were  a  d d  sight  better 

than  some  of  the  genteel  thieves  who  live  right  in  camp/'  he 
walked  up  to  the  bar,  while  Joe  went  behind  and  said,  "Wai 
what  will  you  have." 

"I'll  take  whiskey  in  mine,"  answered  Wai. 
Joe  set  up  a  glass  and  bottle,  and  while  mixing  a  toddy 
beneath  the  bar  for  himself,  Wai  seized  the  bottle,  poured  his 
glass  full  to  the  brim,  and  then  deliberately  emptied  it  on  the 
counter  with  the  remark:  "If  you  don't  like  that,  why  then 
take  your  change  anyway  you  want  it,"  at  the  same  instant 


OLD   SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  211 

putting  his  hand  on  his  hip  as  if  in  the  act  of  drawing  his 
pistol. 

As  quick  as  thought,  Joe  knowing  the  desperate  charac- 
ter of  the  man  he  had  to  deal  with,  seized  a  pistol  from 
behind  the  bar,  leveled  it,  fired,  and  Wai  fell  dead. 

Joe  immediately  stepped  from  where  he  was,  to  the  front, 
pistol  in  hand,  and  emptied  the  remaining  chambers  of  his 
revolver  into  the  prostrate  form  of  Wai. 

Joe  gave  himself  up  at  once,  and  an  examination  was 
shortly  held  before  the  Alcalde,  where  all  the  facts  were  elicit- 
ed, and  the  verdict  of  the  jury  was  "Justifiable  Homicide." 

Thus  ended  the  career  of  Wai  Henderson,  and  his  bones 
are  now  reposing  on  the  little  hill  above  the  camp,  where  a 
score  or  more  of  others  lie  who  have  gone  the  same  way. 


212  STORIES  OF  THE 


CANNADY'S  RANCH. 

Whoever  crossed  the  Great  Plains  of  Kansas  and  Colo- 
rado in  the  days  of  the  " Prairie  Schooner"  or  lumbering  stage- 
coach, doubtless  remembers  that  immense  tract  on  the 
confines  of  New  Mexico,  known  as  Maxwell's  Ranch." 

Lucien  B.  Maxwell  was  the  companion  and  compeer  of 
Kit  Carson,  and  became  famous  in  company  with  the  latter 
as  guide  and  hunter  on  the  earlier  exploring  expeditions 
across  the  continent,  particularly,  that  one  of  Fremont's  in 
1842-3. 

Shortly  after  the  termination  of  his  memorable  march, 
Maxwell  married  a  Mexican  lady,  and  with  her  became  the 
possessor  of  the  large  grant  which  to-day,  goes  by  his  name. 
It  originally  comprised  more  than  half  a  million  acres,  and  is 
situated  in  one  of  the  most  charming  and  picturesque  portions 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Within  its  area  can  be  found  the  grandest  peaks 
and  canons  of  that  whole  region,  at  the  foot  of  which 
nestle  the  loveliest  and  most  fertile  valleys  in  the  world. 
The  Cimarron  and  Moreno  rivers — cool  mountain  streams — 
follow  the  sinuosities  of  their  tortuous  passage  through  the 
towering  ranges  of  the  tract,  and  Ute  Creek,  a  rushing,  foam- 
ing little  torrent,  splashes  and  sparkles  in  the  sunshine, 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  213 

wherever  the  beetling  walls  of  the  canon  that  restrain  its 
maddened  waters,  and  the  involvement  of  gnarled  and  knotted 
vines  that  overshadow  it,  .will  permit  a  ray  of  light  to  enter. 

Thirty  years  ago,  the  whole  territory  of  New  Mexico,  in 
which  "Maxwell's  Ranch"  is  located,  was  acquired  by  the 
United  States  under  the  Guadaloupe  Treaty,  and  at  that  time 
was  almost  an  unknown  and  unexplored  country,  except  to 
the  limited  number  of  traders  with  far-off  Santa  Fe,  and  until 
within  the  last  decade  and  a  half,  that  portion  of  the  mountains 
in  which  the  events  in  our  story  occurred,  revealed  in  all  the 
grandeur  and  wildness  of  their  primitiveness.  But  the  march 
of  civilization,  in  its  ever-restless  course  westward,  has  com- 
pletely metamorphosed  the  whole  aspect  of  the  country  phys- 
ically, and  its  condition  socially. 

Now  the  land  is  full  of  harvests  and  green  meads.  The 
mighty  and  seemingly  interminable  woods,  whose  mingled 
branches  covered  the  immense  domain  with  a  sea  of  foliage, 
almost  excluding  the  sun,  have  fallen  before  the  axe  of  the 
pioneer.  The  hardy  yeomen  of  the  crowded  older  states, 
have  poured  in  upon  the  footsteps  of  the  receding  savage, 
and  the  magnificent  highlands  and  prairies,  over  which  but  a 
short  time  since  deep  silence  brooded,  except  when  broken 
by  the  cry  of  the  panther  and  wolf,  or  the  still  more  appalling 
yell  of  the  Indian,  is  now  vocal  with  the  thousand  happy 
sounds  of  a  busy  industry. 

Where  the  solitary  smoke  of  the  red  man's  wigwam  curl- 
ed its  thin  wreath  among  the  trees,  can  now  be  seen  the 


214  STORIES  OF  THE 

dense  cloud  from  the  stamp  mill,  or  blacksmith  shop,  and 
instead  of  the  frail  canoe,  emerging  quickly  from  a  dark  inlet, 
the  flume  is  carried  over  the  hills,  and  empties  its  precious 
waters  on  the  rich  placers  below. 

Our  story  opens  in  the  spring  of  1869,  the  date  of  which 
gold  was  discovered  in  the  mountains  and  gulches  of  *  'Max- 
well's Ranch.''  For  some  years  previously,  it  was  known 
that  copper  existed  in  the  region,  and  several  shafts  had  been 
sunk,  and  tunnels  driven  in  various  places.  The  most  im 
portant  of  the  copper  lodes,  and  the  one  in  fact  which 
Maxwell  worked  himself,  was  located  near  the  top  of  Old 
Baldy,  an  immense  mass  of  disrupted  granite  and  other  prim- 
itive rocks  that  rises  some  thirteen  thousand  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea — whose  summit,  bare  and  cold — far  beyond 
the  timber  limit,  gave  its  name. 

The  view  from  the  rugged  and  storm-beaten  crown  of 
this  grand  old  sentinel  of  the  range  is  indescribably  sublime. 
Far  away  to  the  north — more  than  ninety  miles  distant— the 
snow-capped  pinnacles  of  the  twin  Spanish  peaks  glisten  and 
sparkle  in  the  sunlight,  and  beyond  them,  the  majestic  Pike's 
Peak  hangs  like  a  white  cloud  in  the  sky. 

Between  these,  and  stretching  indefinitely  in  the  purple 
mist,  to  the  south  and  west,  rugged  spurs  of  a  dozen  differ- 
ent chains  throw  their  shadows  over  the  landscape.  On  the 
east  the  great  plains  of  Colorado — originating  at  the  base  of 
the  Raton  range— treeless,  boundless,  and  illimitable  as  the 
ocean,  lose  themselves  in  the  deep  blue  of  the  horizon,  while 


OLD  SANTA  FE   TRAIL.  215 

far  away  to  the  northeast  rises  the  Arkansas,  which  like  a 
huge  silver  snake  twists  its  silent  way  for  more  than  a  thou- 
sand miles  to  discharge  its  mighty  volume  of  water  into  the 
great  river. 

Gold  was  discovered  early  in  1867  by  a  party  of  pros- 
pectors, who  were  tunneling  into  the  heart  of  Old  Baldy  in 
search  of  copper.  When  it  became  known  that  gold  existed 
in  paying  quantities  through  all  the  mountains  and  gulches  of 
the  range,  hundreds  of  miners  flocked  into  the  region,  and 
before  the  end  of  the  year  had  staked  out  their  claims,  and 
"Grouse,"  ''Willow,"  "Humbug"  and  "Last  Chance" 
were  located,  and  a  busy  population  were  hard  at  work  wash- 
ing out  the  glittering  particles  of  precious  metal  with  their 
ong  toms,  cradles,  sluices  and  hydraulics.  A  company  was 
formed,  and  a  ditch  constructed  forty  miles  in  length,  from 
the  head-waters  of  the  Little  Canadian  or  Red  rivers  to  sup- 
ply the  placers  of  the  Moreno  valley,  when  the  water  from 
the  melting  snows  of  Baldy  range  had  exhausted  itself. 

The  richest  diggings  were  situated  about  half  way 
between  the  Santa  Fe  stage-road  crossing  on  the  Cimarron, 
and  the  old  Mexico  town  of  Taos,  the  home  of  Kit  Carson. 
At  this  point,  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Moreno  river,  and  in 
the  very  heart  of  the  mountains,  a  little  settlement  sprung  up 
as  if  by  magic,  and  in  a  few  months  boasted  of  a  population 
numbering  nearly  two  thousand. 

As  in  all  mining  camps,  a  most  heterogeneous  crowd 
composed  the  squatters  in  Elizabethtown,  as  the  residents 


216  STORIES  OF  THE 

there  choose  to  call  their  little  city  in  the  mountains.  In  its 
rough  but  busy  streets  you  could  meet  the  tall  and  plodding 
Yankee  fresh  from  the  low  hills  of  New  England;  the  active 
restless  Texan ;  the  jauntly-dressed  commercial  tourist,  with 
his  samples  of  bad  whiskey  and  worse  cigars ;  the  swarthy 
Mexican,  with  his  broad  sombrero  and  scarlet  sash;  the  dark- 
er specimen  of  the  genus  homo,  the  negro;  the  Heathen 
Chinee,  the  old  California  "forty-niners,"  and  in  fact  all 
shades  of  nationalities. 

Nearly  every  state  had  its  representative  in  the  motley 
group,  who  had  come  to  seek  their  fortune  in  this  new  El 
Dorado. 

It  was  an  elegant  place  to  study  character — to  learn  how 
all  the  finer  attributes  of  man  can  be  completely  crushed  out 
by  years  of  adversity;  and  how,  under  the  same  circum- 
stances, all  that  is  noble  and  pure  can  retain  its  principles 
untainted  and  incorruptible,  no  matter  how  hellish  and  pesti- 
lent may  be  its  surroundings. 

A  characteristic  of  the  east  is  formal  "politeness,  or  cool 
and  elegant  impudence ;  that  of  the  far  West  ignorance  of  all 
etiquette  and  honest  hospitality.  The  distinction  is  not  un- 
favorable to  men.  One  can  easily  overlook  their  want  of 
what  people  call  manners,  which  generally  mean  nothing.  If 
they  are  devoid  of  grace,  ceremony  and  fashion,  you  may 
more  confidently  depend  upon  the  sincerity  of  what  they  say 
or  do.  One  cannot  but  admire  their  broad,  brawny  hands ; 
their  sun-burnt  honest  faces;  and  when  in  company  of  one 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  217 

of  these— a  man  perchance  who  will  pass  away  from  the  earth 
absolutely  unacquainted  with  its  enervating  pleasures  and 
splendors,  and  free  from  those  exciting  and  corrupting  influ- 
ences which  too  often  deaden  the  feelings  and  warp  the 
principles — you  listen  with  respect  to  the  honest  phrases,  and 
feel  at  once  that  yqu  have  fallen  among  friends. 

There  is  a  genuine  frankness,  a  boldness  without  dissimula- 
tion, more  fairness  and  honor  in  the  unpolished  native  of  the 
border  than  is  usually  found  in  an  acquired  politeness  under 
the  broadcloth  exteriors  of  our  populous  cities  in  the  east. 
Foolish  grievances  that  disturb  the  order  of  a  well-regulated 
town  or  village,  often  ending  with  a  disgraceful  street  fight, 
rarely  occur;  an  affront  is  seldom  offered,  because  it  is  settled 
forever  on  the  spot,  and  the  revolver  never  drawn  without 
accomplishing  its  purpose. 

An  understanding  of  this  mutual  code,  inelegant  as  it 
may  seem  to  those  who  cannot  appreciate  it,  has  founded  a 
state  of  society  in  which  a  saint  might  live  without  fear  of 
insult,  but  which  would  quickly  end  the  career  of  a  bully. 

Occasionally  bad  men  turn  up,  who  run  their  course  of 
"deep  damnation  "  and  become  a  terror  to  the  whole  country, 
but  such  men  are  wound  up  at  last  and  "  die  with  their  boots 
on" — western  graveyards  are  full  of  them. 

Jack  Cannady  was  one  of  this  class,  whose  infernal 
operations  in  the  Moreno  mines,  and  summary  death  by  his 
outraged  fellow-miners  is  the  subject  of  this  sketch. 

As  has  been  stated,  the  town  was  located  on  the  west 
20 


218  STORIES  OF  THE 

bank  of  the  Moreno,  but  its  pretty  situation,  and  something 
of  its  life,  must  be  described,  to  familiarize  the  reader  with 
the  varied  character,  attractions,  and  occupations  that  go  to 
make  up  the  aggregate  of  a  mountain  mining  camp. 

The  timber  extended  from  the  immense  bluffs  behind  the 
town  almost  to  the  edge  of  the  river,  and  before  a  settlement 
could  be  fairly  effected,  the  ax  was  called  into  requisition  to 
let  in  the  pleasant  sunlight  upon  a  portion  of  the  slope  and 
rich  land  of  the  intervale.  Another  margin  of  timber  was 
confined  to  the  banks  of  the  stream,  where,  like  a  beautiful 
fringe,  it  followed  the  graceful  windings  of  the  golden  water 
that  flowed  musically  on  in  the  deep  shadow. 

When  evening  approached,  and  the  setting  sun  threw  a 
flood  of  silvery  light  on  the  white  sandstone  ledge  that  crown- 
ed the  bluffs,  and  the  purple  mist  began  to  steal  over  the  val- 
ley, and  the  dark  green  of  the  belt  of  timber  low  down  on  the 
river  bottom  was  thrown  into  deeper  shade  as  the  light  gradu- 
ally faded  away — and  the  crowning  glory  of  all — when  the 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  began  their  play  of  colors  on  the 
storm-beaten  head  of  Old  Baldy,  there  was  presented  one  of 
the  most  gorgeous  pictures  in  the  world,  far  surpassing  the 
storied  beauty  of  the  Italian  landscape  or  the  cold  grandeur 
of  the  Alps. 

Besides  the  magnificence  of  its  scenery  and  the  scale  of 
its  distances,  there  is  an  enchantment  pervading  the  very  at- 
mosphere of  the  prairies  and  mountains,  and  the  charm  in- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  219 

tensifies  in  almost  every  nature  as  each  new  act  and  new  ex- 
perience presents  itself. 

There  is  an  indescribable  quiet  reigning  over  the  actual  and 
visible  of  that  "  far  off  life  "  which  seems  to  touch  every  heart, 
and  hardly  any  one  who  has  tasted  the  exemption  from  the 
restraint  imposed  by  the  conventionalities  of  a  so-called  fash- 
ionable society — which  the  freedom  of  a  life  on  the  great 
plains  or  in  the  mountains  permits — contentedly  returns  to 
an  abridgement  of  that  irrepressible  degage  within  him,  de- 
manded by  the  crowded  civilization  east  of  the  Mississippi. 

The  town  consisted  of  four  streets  and  the  houses  were 
generally  of  only  one  story,  constructed  of  logs  and  adobe. 

In  all  mining  camps  there  is  concentrated  the  most  varied 
population  and  promiscuous  occupations  conceivable — from 
merchants  and  tradesmen  through  all  the  degrees  of  legiti- 
mate business — and  from  the  professional  faro  dealer  down 
through  all  the  multifarious  inventions  for  gambling,  to  the 
swindling  gift  enterprise  on  a  limited  scale,  and  three-card 
monte.  The  susceptibility  of  the  Mexican  to  the  charms  of 
these  games  of  doubtful  fortune  is  a  marked  characteristic, 
and  those  people  perhaps  made  up  one-fourth  of  the  popula- 
tion. 

Notwithstanding  such  an  aggregation  of  opposing  ele- 
ments, and  the  idleness  incident  to  such  precarious  means  of 
support,  confined,  too,  as  it  was  to  such  a  comparatively 
limited  geographical  area,  the  discipline  of  the  place  was  fair, 
to  say  the  least.  In  fact  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  have 


220  STORIES  OF  THE 

found  a  populous  district  in  the  east  where  better  order  was 
obtained,  or  where  there  was  such  an  apparent  disposition  to 
obey  the  laws. 

But,  of  course,  it  can  be  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that 
the  "regulations"  were  made  by  the  miners  themselves,  each 
man  had  a  voice  in  it,  and  he  was  bound  in  honor  to  act  him- 
self, at  all  times,  as  a  guardian  of  the  peace.  Therefore, 
notwithstanding  there  were  hundreds  there  to  whose  ears  the 
shrill  whistle  of  a  bullet  would  sound  sweeter  than  the  soft 
tones  of  a  flute,  their  perfect  good  nature  and  "principle  cf 
honor  among  thieves,"  kept  them  within  reasonable  bounds. 

Occasionally  there  were  desperate  fights  over  the  gam- 
bling tables  in  the  "  hells"  with  which  the  camp  was  rilled, 
and  sometimes  a  too  obstreperous  individual,  full  of  "bug 
juice"  and  fight,  would  get  a  hole  drilled  into  him  by  a  num- 
ber forty-four  pistol  ball,  or  his  ribs  tickled  with  an  eleven 
inch  bowie.  Often,  under  the  excellent  skill  of  the  doctor, 
these  would  recover,  but  oftener  took  up  their  last  claim  of 
six  feet  by  two  in  the  "bone  orchard,"  as  it  was  called,  on 
the  side  of  the  mountain. 

Such  an  intensely  varied  population  necessarily  demand- 
ed amusements  as  varied  to  satisfy  the  diversity  of  tastes  ag- 
gregated there.  Consequently  gambling  in  all  its  seductive 
mutability,  horse  racing,  the  sirenizing  charms  of  the  most 
depraved  of  the  dtmi-monde  and  the  bewitching  enticements  of 
music  as  an  accessory  to  these  corrupting  entertainments,  al- 
luringly met  the  ingenuous  and  unsuspecting  among  the 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  221 

checkered  population  at  every  footstep,  some  of  whom,  per- 
haps, were  never  before  away  from  the  virtuous  influence  of 
their  rustic  homes  on  the  gentle  slopes  of  the  Texas  prairies 
or  the  vine-clad  hills  of  the  older  states. 

From  early  in  the  evening  till  broad  daylight  next  morn- 
ing a  concourse  of  musical  strains  floated  upon  the  cool 
mountain  air,  ringing  all  the  changes,  from  the  jingling  time 
of  the  "Arkansas  Traveler"  or   "Devil's  Dream  "on   the 
wheeziest  of  fiddles,  manipulated  by  some  negro  amateur,  to 
the  choicest  gems  of  an  opera  in  the  delicate  notes  of  a  harp. 
The  well  disposed  but  sleepily  inclined  citizen  could  se- 
lect his  lullaby  from  them,  as  it  suited  his  fancy,  for  all  through 
the  night  it  was  unflaggingly  kept  up.     Nor  did  it  cease  when 
the  sun  cast  his  long  rays  on  the  little  valley  next  day,  but  in 
the  brightest  hours  the  same  weary  round  of  tune  continued, 
where  in  the  shade  of  big  trees  and  the  retirement  of  the  gam- 
bling "hells"  and  drinking  saloons,  the  doubtful  harmony 
might  be  heard  enticing  the  unsophisticated  to  the  mysteries 
of  their  interiors. 

Occasionally  this  enchantment  of  sweet  melody  was  ac- 
companied with  the  coarse  language  of  some  lascivious  song 
by  a  rough  balladist,  who  was  chorused  by  a  dozen  discordant 
voices  gathered  around  a  magic  center,  or  the  shuffling  sound 
of  huge  feet  kept  time  to  the  quick  movement  of  an  inspiring 

Jig- 

The  average  miner  would  come  into  town  as  often  as  two 

or  three  times  a  week,  and  if  fortunate  in  his  diggings  would 


222  STORIES  OF  THE 

make  for  the  first  gaming  table,  to  indulge  in  his  favorite 
Mexican  monte.  Winning,  he  would  decorate  himself  with 
an  enormous  stock  of  flash  jewelry,  harnessing  his  neck  with 
a  watch  chain  three  or  four  yards  long,  and  thus  glitteringly 
attired  "would  make  the  rounds,"  stopping  at  every  saloon 
to  treat  the  crowd,  or  kick  up  a  fuss  with  the  first  man  that 
got  in  his  way.  Losing — generally  the  rule — he  went  drunk 
and  sulkily  back  to  his  claim,  consoling  himself  with  the  hope 
of  better  success  next  time.  And  so  the  majority  of  lives 
were  passed — not  a  few  "died  with  their  boots  on"  in  some 
drunken  quarrel  with  their  friends  to  whom  they  had  offered 
a  real  or  fancied  insult. 

Cannady  was  a  tall,  angular,  villainous-looking  specimen 
of  humanity,  who  was  born  in  Missouri,  but  whose  fiendish 
acts  in  the  Kansas  free  state  struggles,  had  forced  him  to  be- 
come an  outlaw  in  the  mountains  of  New  Mexico,  where,  in 
one  of  their  deep  defiles,  he  squatted  himself  and  married  a 
native  woman.  Surly  and  reticent,  usually,  but  pugnacious 
as  a  bull-dog  when  drunk,  he  always  managed  to  kick  up  a 
row  whenever  he  came  into  camp,  and  as  certainly  returned 
home  with  his  head  bandaged  up,  the  result  of  encounters  he 
had  provoked  in  his  midnight  orgies  around  the  town,  or  in 
quarrels  over  the  gambling  table. 

Cannady' s  Ranch  was  located  at  the  entrance  to  Taos 
canon,  about  seventeen  miles  from  the  mining  camp  of  Eliza- 
bethtown,  on  the  main  trail  to  Taos,  to  which  it  was  nearly  the 
same  distance. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  223 

The  spot  Cannady  had  selected  for  his  retreat  was  well 
calculated  as  a  fit  field  for  his  diabolical  deeds,  notwithstand- 
ing the  charm  of  its  magnificent  scenery.  But  of  course  i 
was  not  on  account  of  any  latent  aesthetic  sentiment  of  his 
nature  that  led  him  to  choose  this  picturesquely  beautiful  nook 
in  the  mountains — it  was  because  of  its  retirement  and  lone- 
liness— where  he  could  operate  boldly,  with  the  chances  of 
discovery  reduced  to  the  minimum  of  possibility. 

The  unbroken  wall  of  the  canon  rises  abruptly  for  over 
a  thousand  feet  on  one  side,  where  under  its  dark  veil  of 
shade  the  cabin  stood,  and  at  the  opposite  side,  scarcely  three 
hundred  feet  away,  a  corresponding  mass  of  rock  shoots  up- 
ward to  nearly  the  same  height,  forming  the  other  wall. 

This  fearful  gap  in  the  range  was  made  untold  ages  ago 
by  one  of  those  terrible  convulsions  of  nature,  the  effects  of 
which  are  visible  on  every  hand  in  the  Rocky  Mountains ; 
for  it  can  plainly  be  seen  that  the  walls  of  the  canon  were  orig- 
inally closed,  and  what  was  once  merely  a  huge  fissure,  time 
and  erosion  have  worn  into  a  respectable  passage  through  the 
giant  barrier. 

The  entrance  to  the  canon  and  its  surroundings  was  a 
perfect  wilderness  of  beauty.  Little  springs  gushed  out  from 
the  base  of  the  tall  granite  cliffs  that  stood  like  towers  amidst 
the  dwarfed  oaks  nodding  around  them,  and  the  babbling  lit- 
tle rills  as  they  trickled  slowly  over  the  smooth  pebbles,  sent 
up  the  music  of  their  tuneful  waters  in  sweet  concert  with  the 
ever  whispering  pines. 


224  STORIES  OF  THE 

At  all  seasons  and  for  all  hearts,  forest  scenery  has  a 
charm,  and  how,  under  the  very  mantle  of  such  a  gorgeous 
landscape,  man  can  commit  the  most  horrid  crimes  seems  a 
mystery. 

Cannady's  cabin,  with  its  bloody  history,  was  the  only 
object  that  clashed  with  the  loveliness  of  its  embosomment; 
it  was  constructed  in  the  rudest  style  of  back-woods  architect- 
ure— of  unhewn  logs  placed  together  at  the  ends,  after  the 
manner  in  which  children  build  their  houses  of  corn-cobs — 
and  the  interstices  chinked  up  with  mud.  It  had  only  three 
windows,  and  the  door  was  formed  out  of  a  few  pine  shingles 
or  rough  clapboards,  fastened  together  with  wooden  pins  and 
hung  on  hinges  of  the  same  material.  The  roof  was  compos- 
ed of  similar  riven  clapboards,  which  were  kept  in  their  place 
by  long  and  heavy  logs,  laid  lengthwise  of  the  building  at  short 
intervals  from  each  other,  and  over  the  whole,  a  mass  of  dirt 
some  two  feet  thick  was  deposited.  The  floor  of  this  hut, 
like  all  the  houses  in  New  Mexico,  of  the  poor,  was  of  earth, 
and  the  fire-place  of  the  same  substance. 

Cannady's  family  consisted  of  his  wife  and  his  father-in- 
law,  who  both  lived  in  constant  dread  of  him  and  one  child, 
which  he  afterward  killed. 

The  old  Mexican,  his  father-in-law,  had  cleared  a  little 
garden-patch  around  the  cabin,  where  he  and  his  daughter 
raised  a  few  onions,  sweet  potatoes  and  melons,  but  Cannady's 
ostensible  occupation  was  that  of  a  sort  of  inn-keeper,  where 
travelers  on  their  way  to  Taos  could  get  a  drink  of  the  villain 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  225 

ous  compound  sold  in  that  region,  under  the  name  of  liquor, 
or  feed  their  animals  while  they  smoked  a  poor  cigar  or  a 
pipe  full  of  worse  tobacco. 

At  times  Cannady  would  make  his  appearence  in  camp 
wiih  large  amounts  of  money,  causing  considerable  specula- 
tion among  the  honest  miners  and  the  gamblers,  where  an 
how  he  had  raised  such  a  "stake."  If  such  hints  were 
thrown  out  in  his  presence,  or  if  he  was  directly  asked  the 
question  by  some  one  bolder  than  the  rest,  his  reply  was  in- 
variably, "I've  been  up  to  Taos,  damn  you,  and  win  it,  is 
it  any  o'  your  business  ?" 

During  the  intensely  exciting  times  of  prospecting 
through  the  different  ranges  for  quartz  leads  in  the  early  weeks 
of  the  discovery  of  gold  and  silver  in  that  region,  two  young 
Indians  one  morning  brought  down  to  Maxwell,  a  gunny  sack 
half  full  of  gold-bearing  rock,  which  they  told  him  they  found 
beyond  Cannady's  ranch  in  the  lower  end  of  the  Taos  range. 

Maxwell,  anxious  to  develop  the  matter,  and  eager  to 
obtain  more  specimens,  furnished  the  boys  with  animals  and 
provisions  to  secure  undoubted  proof  of  what  he  considered 
a  "rich  strike." 

The  Indians  set  out  on  their  journey  of  discovery  early 
the  next  morning,  and  when  they  came  to  the  mouth  of  the 
canon  where  Cannady  lived,  they  separated,  one  taking  a 
short  cut  over  the  mountains  by  the  trail,  and  the  other  going 
up  the  canon  to  Cannady's  for  water.  They  were  to  have 


226  STORIES  OF  THE 

met  two  miles  beyond,  in  the  canon,  west  of  the  ranch,  but 
they  never  saw  each  other  again. 

Two  days  afterward,  the  mule  which  the  boy  rode  who 
had  gone  to  Cannady's,  was  found  in  the  Cimarron  canon  all 
alone,  browsing  on  his  way  back  to  Maxwell's.  No  trace  of 
the  missing  boy  could  be  found,  and  the  tribe  to  which  he 
belonged,  and  who  were  friendly  to  the  whites,  declared  that 
he  had  been  murdered  by  some  Americans. 

Maxwell,  upon  whom  the  whole  Ute  nation  looked  as 
their  father,  endeavored  to  talk  them  out  of  what  he  consid- 
ered a  ridiculous  idea,  but  he  could  not  remove  the  impress- 
ion from  their  minds. 

Nearly  two  months  had  elapsed  and  the  matter  had  al- 
most ceased  to  receive  any  more  thought,  when,  one  after- 
noon, two  miners  of  Elizabethtown,  on  their  way  back  from 
Taos,  on  approaching  Cannady's  ranch — who  happened  to 
be  away  at  the  time — discovered  a  half  starved  Mexican  dog 
tugging  and  pulling  at  something  he  had  evidently  unearthed 
a  short  distance  from  the  rear  of  the  cabin. 

Curiosity  led  them  to  dismount,  tie  their  mules  and  in- 
vestigate what  the  cur  was  apparently  so  interested  in.  Their 
examination  showed  it  to  be  the  leg  of  a  human  being,  and 
on  further  search,  discovered  the  body  of  the  Indian  -boy 
with  his  skull  split  open  as  if  done  with  an  axe. 

The  news  of  the  discovery  of  the  murder  of  the  missing 
Ute  was  imparted  to  only  a  few  of  the  best  citizens  of  Eliza- 
bethtown, who  immediately  took  measures  for  the  arrest  of 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  .       227 

Cannady,  knowing  that  if  the  Indians  discovered  it,  they 
would  break  out  and  probably  massacre  the  whole  settlement. 
Cannady  was  taken  by  surprise  one  morning  and  brought  to 
town  before  the  Alcalde.  But  meanwhile,  some  way  or  other, 
the  Indians  became  aware  of  the  facts,  and  it  was  only 
through  the  good  counsels  of  Maxwell  they  were  finally 
bought  off,  and  a  terrible  slaughter  prevented.  When  the 
Indians  were  made  acquainted  with  the  tragic  fate  of  the  boy 
of  their  tribe,  and  knew  that  he  had  been  brutally  murdered 
by  the  desperado  Cannady,  they  declared  their  determina- 
tion of  avenging  his  death.  Maxwell,  fearing  that  some  in- 
nocent white  man  would  be  killed,  whom  their  roving  bands 
might  mistake  for  Cannady,  resolved  to  effect  an  amicable 
settlement  of  the  affair  if  possible,  rather  than  that  the  chief 
should  give  the  order  to  his  warriors  to  hunt  for  Cannady. 

The  excellent  counsel  of  Maxwell  prevailed,  and  the 
Indians  were  pacified  by  his  presenting  each  of  the  boy's 
immediate  relations  with  a  pony,  and  the  citizens  of  Elizabeth- 
town  contributing  money,  provisions  and  ammunition.  Thus, 
through  Maxwell's  perfect  knowledge  of  the  Indian  character, 
and  his  timely  intervention,  a  war  with  one  of  the  most  power- 
ful tribes  was  averted,  for  the  Indians  had  fully  made  up  their 
.  minds  to  put  on  their  war-paint,  and  first  of  all,  in  their  con- 
templated depredations,  threatened  to  kill  every  white  man  in 
the  mines.  Maxwell  did  not  hesitate,  however,  to  tell  the 
chief  with  whom  he  made  arrangements,  that  if  any  of  them 
ever  came  across  Cannady,  and  they  were  sure  of  their  man, 


228  STORIES  OF  THE 

no  trouble  would  ensue  "  if  they  killed  him  right  in  his 
tracks." 

In  the  course  of  Cannady's  examination  before  the  Al- 
calde in  town,  some  of  the  facts  in  relation  to  the  boy's  death 
were  elicited  from  Cannady's  Mexican  wife.  She  stated  that 
the  young  Indian  had  called  at  the  ranch,  and  that  her  hus- 
band was  out  in  the  hills  somewhere  with  his  rifle,  tempo- 
rarily ;  that  she  gave  the  boy  a  bowl  of  coffee  to  drink,  and 
while  peaceably  sitting  enjoying  her  proffered  refreshment, 
the  bloodthirsty  man  slipped  in  quietly  behind  him,  holding 
in  his  hand  a  hatchet,  with  which  he  struck  him  in  the  head 
two  or  three  times,  cleaving  his  skull  and  killing  him  instantly. 
He  then  took  him  by  the  heels,  dragged  him  a  few  rods  in 
the  rear  of  the  house,  and  there  buried  him,  where  his  body 
was  discovered  by  the  prowling,  half  starved  cur. 

There  were  no  organized  courts  in  that  particular  region, 
and  the  result  was  that  Cannady  was  released,  and  returned 
with  the  woman  to  the  ranch.  Policy,  perhaps,  dictated  this 
course,  which,  under  all  the  circumstances — too  complicated 
to  be  explained  in  this  sketch — was  the  best  at  the  time. 

After  Cannady  had  returned  to  the  ranch,  and  there  was 
no  longer  anything  to  fear  from  the  Indians,  nothing  dis- 
turbed the  usual  tranquillity  of  the  camp  into  which  daily  new 
adventurers  thronged  and  new  business  opened,  as  the  re- 
quirements of  the  bustling  little  place  demanded  f  r  nearly 
three  months  after  the  murder  of  the  Ute  boy.  Then,  early 
one  afternoon,  Cannady  rode  into  camp  in  the  greatest  ex- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  229 

citement,  announcing  that  he  had  found  the  dead  body  of 
some  unknown  man,  lying  on  the  trail  near  his  ranch,  shot 
through  the  heart,  and,  scattered  around  in  every  direction, 
a  considerable  amount  of  fractional  currency — that  he  had 
left  him  just  as  he  had  discovered  him,  and  had  hurried  into 
town  to  give  the  alarm — stating,  in  his  opinion,  that  hostile 
Indians  had  done  the  work,  and  advising  that  a  mounted 
party  be  formed  to  scour  around  the  mountains  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  canon  to  follow  up  the  trail  if  possible. 

The  camp  was  all  impatience  and  restlessness  under  the 
news,  and  in  less  than  an  hour,  twenty-three  men  were  mount- 
ed, well  armed,  and  with  three  day's  rations,  were  on  their 
way  to  the  Taos  range  with  Cannady  a?  their  guide.  Reach- 
ing the  ranch  in  a  short  time  they  found  the  body  of  the  mur- 
dered man  as  Cannady  had  described,  who  was  immediately 
recognized  as  Billy  Edwards,  well  known  through  the  mines 
as  an  industrious,  prospering  miner,  quiet,  orderly  and  re- 
spected by  all  who  knew  him.  Only  a  few  days  previously 
he  had  sold  out  his  claim,  and  purchasing  a  pack  animal  had 
started  for  Santa  Fe  via  Taos,  with  all  he  possessed  in  the 
world  secured  about  his  person  and  on  the  back  of  his  little 
"burro." 

The  appearance  of  his  body  and  the  money  scattered 
around  him  all  led  to  the  confirmation  of  Cannady's  story, 
and  expressed  suspicions  that  the  Indians  had  killed  him. 
No  one  in  the  crowd  for  a  moment  thought  of  implicating 

Cannady  in  the  affair — in  fact,  he  appeared  as  eager  as  any 
21 


230  STORIES  OF  THE 

to  trace  the  murder  to  its  author,  and  make  an  extended 
scout  among  the  hills.  Three  days  were  spent  by  the  party 
in  fruitless  search  for  some  trace  of  Indians,  but  not  a  sign 
could  be  discovered,  and  they  returned  to  the  camp  with  the 
remains  of  the  unfortunate  Edwards,  and  buried  them  in  the 
little  hill  just  north  of  the  town,  already  dotted  over  with  the 
graves  of  many  murdered  men.  The  matter  was  not  dropped 
but  talked  over  constantly,  for  Edwards  was  beloved  by  every 
one.  Little  knots  of  miners  and  mountaineers  could  be  seen 
almost  any  time  around  the  stores  and  saloons  discussing  the 
question  of  the  murder,  and  each  advancing  his  own  theory 
of  how  "poor  Billy"  was  surprised  and  killed. 

Now  and  then  some  would  hint  that  Cannady  knew  more 
about  the  killing  than  many  supposed  he  did.  One,  who  was 
more  emphatic  in  his  assertions  than  others,  declared  most 
decidedly  at  a  discussion  in  the  hotel  over  the  affair  :  "To 
be  sure  nobody  knows  what  Cannady's  been  about,  but  it 
isn't  honest  people  that  do  what  they  have  to  do  in  the  dark ; 
he  always  has  oceans  of  cash,  and  now  where  does  he  get  it ; 
that's  what  I  want  to  know  ?" 

It  was  only  a  few  days  afterward  that  some  prospectors, 
who  had  come  down  to  the  mines  from  Taos,  stated  that 
Cannady  had  just  been  up  there  on  a  terrible  spree,  and  had 
lots  of  money,  which  he  used  freely  in  drinking  and  gam- 
bling. So,  immediately  upon  this  news,  the  two  miners 
who  had  intimated  more  strongly  than  the  others  that  Can- 
nady could  tell  more  about  Edwards  death  than  any  one  else, 


OLD   SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  231 

started  for  his  ranch  one  evening  without  letting  any  of  the 
rest  of  the  camp  know  of  their  expedition.  When  they 
reached  the  place  they  found  it  vacated,  as  they  supposed  it 
would  be,  as  it  was  Cannady's  custom  whenever  he  left  for 
Taos  or  Elizabethtown  to  shut  up  his  cabin  and  send  his  wife 
and  father-in-law  to  some  of  their  relatives  to  stay  during 
his  absence. 

The  two  men  determined  to  take  advantage  of  this  aspect 
of  affairs,  and  make  a  thorough  investigation  of  the  ranch 
and  its  surroundings  to  discover  if  possible  some  foundation 
for  the  conjectures  they  had  formed  of  Cannady's  mode  of 
life,  and  his  murderous  proclivities  as  they  believed.  A  short 
distance  from  the  ranch,  and  just  inside  a  little  clump  of  thick 
timber,  the  remains  of  a  recent  fire  were  found,  and  in  stirring 
over  the  pile  of  ashes  a  lot  of  partly  charred  bones  were  ex- 
posed, which  they  carefully  collected  and  put  in  a  sack.  Not 
far  off  another  heap  of  ashes  was  discovered,  and  a  similar 
collection  of  bones  were  made. 

On  entering  the  cabin,  which  they  now  no  longer  had  any 
hesitancy  in  doing,  they  found  in  the  corner  of  the  room 
used  as  a  kitchen,  a  spot  where  the  dirt-floor  yielded 
under  the  pressure  of  their  feet,  and  which  looked  as  if  it  had' 
been  recently  disturbed.  Taking  a  spade  that  hung  on  a  peg 
in  the  wall,  they  dug  down  about  two  feet,  and  unearthed 
the  mutilated  fragments  of  a  human  body. 

Putting  a  portion  of  the  remains  in  a  sack,  they  care 


232  STORIES  OF  THE 

fully  replaced  the  dirt,  so  that  the  floor  appeared  as  they  had 
found  it,  and  returned  to  camp  with  the  sack  of  bones. 

The  result  of  their  trip  was  disclosed  to  only  a  few,  and 
a  secret  meeting  was  held  the  same  evening  to  devise  the  best 
measure  to  capture  Cannady — whose  hellish-life  was  now 
manifest — before  he  became  alarmed  and  escaped  out  of  the 
country. 

The  next  morning,  learning  from  some  parties  who  had 
just  passed  the  ranch  that  Cannady  had  returned,  it  was  deci- 
ded that  not  a  moment  should  be  lost  in  the  attempt  to  secure 
the  murderous  villain,  and  accordingly  it  was  planned  that 
ten  picked  men  should  start  immediately  for  his  den,  but 
instead  of  going  directly  to  his  door,  should  keep  past  his 
cabin,  singing  and  laughing  and  appear  generally  jolly,  as  if 
they  were  only  bent  on  a  spreeing  trip  to  Taos,  while  he,  no 
doubt,  observing  that  the  crowd  were  not  going  to  halt,  would 
make  his  appearance  and  call  them  back. 

The  proposition  was  immediately  acted  upon,  and  the 
ruse  worked  perfectly,  for  no  sooner  had  they  come  within  a 
hundred  yards  of  the  ranch,  and  were,  to  all  appearance, 
going  by,  than  Cannady  came  outside  and  hailed  them  with 
"Hello  fellows,"  ain't  you  going  to  stop?  Where  are  you 
bound  ?  " 

The  party  held  a  brief  consultation,  apparently  further 
to  carry  out  their  plan,  and  then  one  of  them  called  out : 
"  Got  anything  to  drink  in  there,  Cannady?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "  lots  of  it  ?  come  in." 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  233 

"Say  we  do,  boys,"  said  the  first  speaker  ;  and  they  all 
turned  toward  the  house,  dismounted,  and  hitched  their 
horses  to  the  trees  outside. 

No  sooner  had  they  all  entered  than  a  break  was  made  for 
Cannady,  and  in  a  moment  half  a  dozen  revolvers  were 
pulled  out  of  their  belts,  and  "  they  had  the  drop  on  him." 
Their  business  was  explained  in  a  very  few  words,  they  told 
him  what  they  knew — and  if  he  made  a  move,  they  would 
"  blow  the  top  of  his  head  off." 

He  was  bound  hand  and  foot  with  a  couple  of  lariat 
ropes,  and  tossed  into  a  wagon  that  the  party  had  brought 
with  them,  but  which,  until  they  wanted  it,  remained  out  of 
sight  down  the  trail.  His  Mexican  wife  and  father-in-law 
were  also  taken  to  town  as  witnesses. 

As  soon  as  they  reached  the  camp,  Cannady  was  first 
heavily  shackled  at  the  blacksmith  shop,  and  then  lodged 
in  a  little  log  building,  improvised  as  a  jail,  which  was 
guarded  by  two  plucky  miners. 

For  two  or  three  days  the  ranch  was  searched  for  the 
purpose  of  making  further  discoveries  in  Cannady's  bloody 
work,  and  before  a  week  had  passed,  the  remains  of  seven- 
teen bodies  were  found  buried  inside  and  outside  the  cabin. 
Charred  fragments  of  skeletons  were  hidden  in  various  places 
in  the  vicinity,  and  it  was  supposed  that  many  others  besides 
those  whose  bones  were  found,  had  been  murdered  by  Can- 
nady, and  left  in  the  mountains  just  where  he  had  killed 
them,  and  were  eaten  by  the  wolves. 


234  STORIES  OF  THE 

Frequently  miners  would  leave  for  other  portions  of  the 
territory,  to  be  absent  only  a  few  days,  but  nothing  was 
ever  heard  of  them  afterward.  They  probably  never  got 
beyond  Cannady's  ranch,  where  they  stopped  for  a  drink,  or 
to  rest  for  a  few  moments,  only  to  be  killed  and  robbed  by 
that  mountain  assassin. 

How  many  a  mother,  or  young  wife  has  suddenly  ceased 
to  hear  from  an  adventurous  son,  or  husband,  who  was  seek- 
ing his  fortune  in  the  "far  west,"  and  whose  fate  was  to 
become  the  victim  of  such  fiends  in  human  shape  as  Can- 
nady,  will  never  be  known,  for  their  number  is  one  of  the 
horrid  secrets  that  is  buried  in  the  grave  with  them  and  their 
murderer.  Perhaps  some,  under  whose  eyes  these  facts  may 
fall,  will  find  a  possible  reason  for  the  protracted  absence  of 
one  who  has  been  looked  for  for  years,  but  who  will  never 
come. 

After  the  horrid  developments  at  the  ranch,  threats  were 
made  by  the  exasperated  miners  to  lynch  Cannady  at  once, 
but  they  finally  determined  that  he  should  have  a  fair  and 
impartial  trial,  by  a  jury  of  twelve  men,  to  be  selected  by 
himself;  that  a  judge  should  be  selected  by  the  crowd;  he 
to  appoint  a  prosecuting  attorney  and  counsel  for  the  de- 
fense. 

As  soon  as  it  was  agreed  in  camp  to  give  Cannady  a 
chance  for  his  life,  the  "  fandango  hall"  of  Joe  Stenson's 
"Miner's  Saloon,"  was  selected  as  the  court  room,  and  the 
trial  set  for  eight  o'clock  that  evening. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  235 

At  the  hour  appointed  the  crowd  began  to  gather,  and 
in  a  little  while  the  room  was  packed  with  as  motley  and  as 
hard  a  looking  mob  as  ever  got  together  in  the  West.  It  w.as 
a  curious  mixture  of  ignorance,  manhood,  vice,  virtue  and 
villainy.  Some  of  the  truest  men  that  ever  lived  stood  in 
that  dimly-lighted  little  black  room ;  and  some  hearts  were 
here  too,  as  deeply-dyed — if  the  truth  were  known  as  Can- 
nady's.  Miners,  merchants,  gamblers  and  Mexicans  were 
mixed  promiscuously,  and  the  determined  faces,  and  show  of 
revolvers  spoke  plainly  enough,  "there  wasn't  going  to  be 
any  fooling  "  in  the  matter.  The  red  light  of  a  blazing  fire, 
made  of  dry  pine  knots,  nearly  as  combustible  as  powder, 
shot  up  the  dark  chimney-place  in  the  corner,  throwing  a 
glimmering  and  confused  mist  over  the  brindled  crowd  assem- 
bled there,  and  the  fitful  glimmer  of  three  or  four  untrim- 
med  kerosene  lamps,  threw  weird  shadows  on  the  white- 
washed walls,  as  if  the  ghosts  of  the  murderer's  victims  had 
come  to  be  phantom  witnesses  of  his  agony  and  bitterness. 

Tom  Pollock,  an  excellent  citizen  and  veteran  miner, 
was  unanimously  chosen  judge,  and  Cannady,  of  course, 
had  the  good  sense  to  pick  his  jury  from  the  very  best  ele- 
ment in  the  place.  The  prosecuting  attorney  was  a  young 
lawyer  who  happened  to  be  in  the  camp,  and  a  young  man, 
assessor  of  internal  revenue  at  the  time,  volunteered  to 
defend  the  case,  whose  offer  was  readily  accepted  by  both 
the  judge  and  Cannady. 

The  preliminaries  being  now  all  arranged,   the  prisoner 


236  STORIES  OF  THE 

was  brought  in  by  his  guards,  seated  on  a  cracker  box  in  front 
of  the  jury,  and  by  the  side  of  his  youthful  counsel  and  only 
friend  in  the  whole  crowd. 

There  were  the  usual  oaths  administered,  every  man 
understanding  perfectly  his  position,  and  acting  upon  the 
fearful  responsibility  demanded  by  the  situation  of  affairs  in 
that  isolated  region,  and  the  necessity  of  summary  justice,  no 
matter  on  whose  head  it  might  fall. 

In  a  few  pithy  sentences,  Judge  Pollock  told  Cannady 
the  object  of  their  gathering,  and  reviewed  the  terrible  crimes 
that  had  been  traced  to  his  den.  He  pointed  to  the  ghastly 
remains  and  charred  fragments  of  human  skeletons  that  lay 
piled  upon  a  rude  pine  table  before  him,  which  had  been 
dug  up  inside  of  his  ranch,  and  in  the  timber  in  its  vicinity, 
and  asked  him  how  he  could  look  upon  that  loathsome  and 
horrid  sight,  without  expecting  the  vengeance  of  God  to  strike 
him  dead  in  his  tracks.  The  Judge  grew  almost  eloquent  in 
his  recitation  of  Cannady's  damnable  deeds,  and  a  death-like 
stillness  pervaded  the  place,  as  the  words  fell  hot  and  earnestly 
from  his  lips,  broken  only  by  the  convulsive  click  of  a  revolver 
now  and  then  when  the  excitement  intensified;  and,  but  for 
the  sound  advice  to  "give  the  miserable  wretch  a  square 
deal,"  the  trial  would  have  ended  right  there. 

When  the  Judge  had  finished,  Cannady,  whose  cheeks 
were  ashen  pale,  his  eyes  distended  and  tearless,  riveted  his 
gaze  on  the  determined  men  before  him,  utterly  at  a  loss  what 
to  do  or  say,  and  distracted  alternately  by  hope  and  fear,  for 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  237 

he  felt  the  enormity  of  his  guilt,  and  knew  in  his  cowardly 
heart  he  deserved  death  right  then,  without  the  least  show  of 
mercy. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  stated,  in  opening  the  case,  that 
he  had  not  much  to  say,  and  only  referred  to  the  manner  in 
which  Cannady  selected  his  victims,  and  the  extreme  caution 
he  had  always  exercised  to  avoid  murdering  well-known  resi- 
dents of  the  camp;  understanding  perfectly  their  sudden 
disappearance  from  the  community  would  excite  suspicion 
and  lead  to  an  exhaustive  search  of  their  whereabouts.  He 
showed  how  Cannady  had  always  singled  out  for  the  consum- 
mation of  his  diabolical  ends  some  poor  miner  who,  perhaps, 
had  only  a  nick-name — alone  and  penniless,  en  route  for 
some  other  portions  of  the  country ;  some  isolated,  reticent 
man,  who  seldom  or  never  held  much  communication  with 
others  in  the  camp.  That  he  was  too  cowardly  to  kill  a  well- 
known  merchant  or  citizen  of  the  town — all  of  these  could 
pass  a  night  securely  at  his  ranch ;  to  them  he  would  extend 
a  rough,  generous  hospitality,  and  at  the  same  time  endeavor 
to  impress  upon  their  minds  the  danger  of  a  trip  through  the 
mountains  without  an  escort ;  that  the  Indians  were  treacher- 
ous, and  prowling  over  the  hills  constantly;  besides  there 
were  numbers  of  outlaws  and  highwaymen,  who  sought  the 
solitude  of  the  mountain  fastnesses  to  murder  and  rob ;  that 
he  would  tell  them  of  his  own  marvelous  escapes  and  terri- 
ble hand-to-hand  encounters  with  desperadoes,  all  for  the 
effect  it  might  have  in  drawing  suspicion  from  himself;  that 


238  STORIES  OF  THE 

those  whom  he  would  gladly  have  killed  he  did  not  dare  to, 
and  they  only  had  been  saved  from  the  clutches  of  this  blood- 
thirsty terror  of  the  mountains  by  the  very  cowardice  of  his 
nature.  He  scathed  Cannady  fearfully,  working  up  a  more 
exasperated  feeling  if  possible  than  before  against  him,  and 
then  called  in  his  witnesses. 

The  doctor  was  the  first  to  testify,  and  his  evidence, 
confined  to  the  character  of  the  charred  bones,  settled  any 
question  as  to  the  possibility  of  their  not  being  those  of  hu- 
man beings. 

The  two  miners,  who  had  made  the  horrid  discoveries 
at  the  ranch,  then  related  to  the  jury  their  simple  story,  de- 
scribing accurately  on  a  plain  board,  with  a  piece  of  burnt  stick 
the  location  of  the  cabin,  its  surroundings,  and  the  position 
of  the  ash  heaps.  They  made  a  graphic  if  not  artistic  sketch, 
with-their  rude  pencil,  and  its  effect  upon  the  crowd  and  the 
jury  was  manifested  by  expressions  addressed  indirectly  to 
Cannady  more  emphatic  than  elegant,  but  which  the  judge  in 
a  few  moments  succeeded  in  suppressing. 

Antonio  Montoyo — Cannady's  Mexican  father-in-law — 
who  could  speak  nothing  but  Spanish,  was  questioned  through 
an  interpreter,  and  his  plain  recital  of  what  he  had  seen  left 
no  possible  hope  for  Cannady.  He  told  his  story  of  one 
coldblooded  murder  he  had  witnessed  as  follows:  "One 
evening  a  stranger  came  to  the  ranch  and  wanted  to  stay  al 
night;  he  was  put  in  the  same  room  with  me,  where  I  was 
lying  on  the  floor.  After  the  stranger  was  fast  asleep,  Can- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  239 

nady  cautiously  entered  the  room  with  a  candle  in  one  hand 
and  a  revolver  in  the  other.  I  was  wide  awake  at  the  time 
but  did  not  dare  to  speak.  Cannady  then  softly  approached 
the  bed  on  which  the  stranger  lay,  and  who  was  sound  asleep, 
put  the  muzzle  of  the  pistol  against  his  left  temple  and  fired. 
The  murdered  man  never  moved  or  made  a  sound,  and  I 
jumped  up,  when  Cannady  threatened  to  serve  me  the  same 
way  if  ever  I  breathed  a  word  of  what  I  had  seen.  Cannady 
then  ordered  me  to  hold  the  light  while  he  examined  the 
wound.  The  man  was  large,  and  had  a  long  red  beard  ; 
there  was  a  small  hole  in  his  temple,  and  one  in  the  back  of 
his  head.  I  was  afraid  he  would  kill  me,  and  when  he  told 
me  to  go  and  bring  him  a  bucket  of  water,  I  ran  up  the  canon 
and  did  not  stop  until  I  reached  Taos.  I  never  knew  what 
he  did  with  the  body,  and  he  never  spoke  to  me  about  the 
murder  afterward." 

Cannady's  wife,  a  young  Mexican  girl,  apparently  too 
youthful  for  either  wife  or  mother,  was  called,  and  through 
the  interpreter  stated  that  she  had  witnessed  a  number  of 
murders  at  the  ranch,  but  had  been  afraid  to  say  a  word,  be- 
cause Cannady  always  swore  he  would  kill  her  if  she  did ;  but 
when  he  murdered  her  child  in  the  most  cruel  and  atrocious 
manner  right  before  her  eyes,  she  made  up  her  mind  that  she 
would  expose  his  bloody  life  as  soon  as  she  could  find  a  safe 
opportunity. 

Her  testimony  was  clear  and  distinct,  and  she  exhibited 
no  trace  of  emotion  as  she  gazed  with  her  girlish  face  upon 


240  STORIES  OF  THE 

her  cold-blooded  husband,  who  cowed  before  her  dark  eyes. 

A  host  of  others  gave  in  their  evidence,  all  implicating 
Cannady  directly  or  indirectly  with  a  whole  series  of  butcher- 
ies, and  whose  unanimous  opinion  was  "  that  he  deserved  the 
death  of  a  dog." 

Cannady  had  no  witnesses  to  offer  in  his  defense,  but 
made  a  rambling  incoherent  sort  of  a  speech,  in  which,  of 
course,  he  denied  all  the  terrible  crimes  that  had  been  imputed 
to  him,  acknowledging  only  the  murder  of  the  Ute  boy,  whom, 
he  had  declared,  he  had  killed  in  self-defense  to  save  his 
family. 

Every  word  the  hardened  wretch  uttered,  however,  had 
only  tended  to  confirm  the  minds  of  the  jury  and  the  oth- 
ers present  of  his  guilt,  and  after  half  an  hour  of  successive 
contradictions  and  weak  argument,  he  sat  down. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  submitted  the  fate  of  the  ac- 
cused to  the  jury  without  discussing  the  points  of  the  case; 
he  felt  it  would  only  be  consuming  valuable  time,  and  if  there 
was  anything  to  be  said,  let  the  defense  offer  it. 

The  counsel  for  the  defense,  though  in  his  own  mind 
convinced  of  the  deep-dyed  villainy  of  his  brutal  client,  felt 
it  incumbent  upon  him  to  make  an  appeal  in  his  behalf,  which 
he  did  so  eloquently,  and  built  up  hypotheses  so  rapidly  that 
some  of  the  rougher  element,  afraid  that  his  efforts  might  be 
effectual,  became  rather  demonstrative  and  crowded  around 
him  in  a  somewhat  too  serious  manner,  but  were  quieted  b 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  241 

a  few  positive  words  from  the  judge — a  rather  decided  but 
not  particularly  pleasant  compliment  to  his  forensic  ability. 

The  judge  made  another  one  of  his  significant  addresses 
in  his  charge  in  submitting  the  case  to  the  jury,  reminding 
them  that  if  their  verdict  should  be  unanimous,  according  to 
the  secret  arrangement,  Cannady  would  be  executed  immedi- 
ately after  they  had  returned  it  in  front  of  the  saloon  in 
which  the  trial  was  held,  but  if  a  single  dissenting  vote  was 
cast,  he  should  be  remanded  to  jail,  and  await  a  regular  trial 
at  the  next  term  of  the  district  court,  at  Taos. 

It  was  midnight  when  the  fate  of  Cannady  was  given  to 
the  twelve  men  whom  he  himself  had  chosen,  and  for  an 
hour  they  deliberated  upon  the  question  of  summary  punish- 
ment, when  they  stood  eleven  for  death,  and  one  for  a  regu- 
lar trial  according  to  law. 

They  so  reported,  and  that  one  dissenting  vote  saved 
Cannady's  life  that  night,  and  he  was  locked  up  in  the 
little  log  jail  again,  doubly  shackled,  and  guarded  by  an  ad- 
ditional force. 

The  crowd  sulkily  submitted  to  the  decision,  but  a  good 
many  threats  were  muttered  about  ''getting  even  with  him," 
"having  his  hearfs  blood,"  etc.  The  excitement  subsided, 
however,  in  the  morning,  and  the  camp  gradually  resumed 
its  normal  condition. 

Four  or  five  days  after  the  midnight  trial  in   "Stensons' 
saloon"  another  prospecting  party,  just  in  from  the  mountains, 
rode  into  town  with  the  head  of  the  unfortunate  victim  so 
22 


242  STORIES  OF  THE 

accurately  described  by  the  Mexican  father-in-law  of  Canna- 
dy  in  his  evidence  before  the  court. 

There  was  the  "hole  in  the  left  temple,"  and  the  other 
"  in  the  back  of  the  head."  The  features  were  considerably 
decomposed,  but  long  masses  of  sandy  beard  still  adhered  to 
the  face,  and  the  remains  were  at  once  recognized  as  those  of 
Major  Over,  formerly  from  Ohio,  who  had  left  the  mines  at 
the  time  of  his  murder  for  Santa  Fe. 

This  confirmatory  proof  of  Cannady's  atrocities  aroused 
the  indignation  of  the  people  again — which  wa6  only  slumber- 
ing, and  another  secret  meeting  was  called. 

A  little  after  midnight,  the  hour  agreed  upon,  about 
twenty  determined  men  met  in  the  back  of  one  of  the  little 
log  stores,  heavily  armed,  and  their  faces  disguised  with 
masks  improvised  for  the  occasion. 

The  dingy  looking  place  was  lighted  by  a  few  tallow- 
candles  that  shed  a  dim,  sallow  haziness  over  the  piles  of  ba- 
con, kegs  of  powder,  picks,  shovels,  and  other  miner's  goods, 
which  were  stored  there,  and  upon  the  strange  looking  faces 
assembled  to  mete  out  that  justice  which  they  believed  had 
been  too  long  delayed. 

The  doctor  who  resided  in  the  camp,  had  been  invited 
to  be  present,  and  was  there,  not  to  exercise  an  active  part 
in  the  summary  vengence  about  to  take  place,  but  rather  for 
the  purpose  of  drawing  out  some  information  from  the  doom- 
ed man  at  the  place  of  execution  concerning  those  whom  he 
had  murdered,  in  order  that  relatives  or  friends  might  be  in- 


OLD  SANTA   FE  TRAIL.  243 

formed  of  the  time  and  manner  of  their  death,  and  the  fate  of 
the  murderer. 

After  half  an  hour  spent  in  discussion  relative  to  a 
plan  of  operations,  finally  it  was  agreed  that  the  party  should 
meet  at  the  same  hour  the  next  night  just  outside  the  camp, 
at  the  Taos  trail  crossing  of  Ute  creek,  from  there  go  to  the 
jail,  take  Cannady  out  and  hang  him. 

After  these  preliminaries  had  been  arranged  a  solemn 
oath  was  sworn  to  carry  out  their  plans,  and  the  little  assem- 
bly broke  up  to  come  together  again  on  the  following  night 
at  the  appointed  rendezvous. 

Nothing  disturbed  the  usual  routine  of  the  camp  next  day, 
and  not  a  suspicion  was  entertained  that  Cannady  was  so  soon 
to  meet  the  tragic  fate  he  richly  deserved. 

The  hours  dragged  their  weary  length  along,  and  the  de- 
Urmined  men  who  had  sworn  to  avenge  the  horrible  butch- 
eries of  Cannady  were  impatient  for  night  to  come  that  their 
work  might  be  consummated. 

Anon  the  evening  came,  walking  noiselessly  over  the 
mountains.  The  clouds  that  had  hung  over  the  valley  all 
day  like  a  pall,  broke  apart  in  painted  masses,  and  behind 
their  tinseled  fragments  the  blazing  sun  with  broadened  disc, 
lingered  in  the  west  for  a  few  moments,  shedding  a  rich  and 
shifting  radiance  over  the  landscape,  which  soon  faded  into 
the  deep  eventide  as  the  day-light  sank  behind  the  hills  that 
overshadowed  the  town. 

The  pines,  the  valley,  the  foaming  torrent,  and  the  little 


244  STORIES  OF  THE 

camp  all  retired  from  view  as  if  they  wished  to  go  to  sleep  be- 
neath the  friendly  shadows. 

Calm  and  beautiful  with  troops  of  stars  overhead,  a  deep 
and  reverent  silence  stole  over  the  place  as  if  the  justice  of 
Heaven  looked  down  upon  the  act  that  was  to  be  committed, 
when  the  men  who  had  sworn  to  keep  their  pledges  march- 
ed out  silently  into  the  night,  and  met  at  Ute  creek  ford. 

Consulting  together  for  a  few  moments  under  the  trees 
on  the  bank,  their  plans  were  hastily  formed  and  put  into  op- 
eration at  once. 

Reaching  the  vicinity  of  the  rude  log  jail,  they  stopped 
to  reconnoiter,  and  finding  everything  quiet,  four  of  them 
went  up  to  the  door  and  knocked. 

The  summons  was  promptly  answered,  and  as  soon  as 
the  door  swung  open  in  rushed  the  masked  men,  who  over- 
powered the  guard  and  disarmed  them  in  a  moment. 

Cannady  was  bound  hand  and  foot,  tied  on  a  litter  that 
the  party  had  improvised  at  the  creek,  and  without  a  whisper 
they  took  up  their  line  of  march  for  the  place  of  execution. 

Three  quarters  of  a  mile  away,  through  a  deep  canon  in 
the  hills,  was  a  little  opening  where  a  corral  and  a  slaughter 
pen  had  been  constructed  in  which  the  cattle  used  by  the 
miners  were  killed.  Here  in  the  forks  of  two  contiguous 
trees  an  unhewn  portion  of  another  was  laid. 

In  one  end  of  this  transverse  stick  holes  had  been  bored, 
and  four  stout  pieces  of  timber  about  three  inches  thick  and 
ten  feet  long  inserted,  which  served  as  a  rough  wheel  and 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  245 

axle,  upon  which  the  dead  beeves  were  hoisted — now  to  be 
turned  into  a  scaffold ! 

To  this  lonely  spot  the  murderer  and  his  excutioners 
journeyed  on  their  silent  expedition. 

Nothing  broke  the  almost  painful  stillness  as  the  un- 
flinching little  procession  marched  under  the  hushed  shadows 
of  the  mountains  piled  up  into  the  calm  firmanent  above 
them,  until  they  reached  the  opening  where  the  slaughter  pen 
stood. 

Then,  suddenly  the  dismal  cry  of  a  pack  of  wolves 
reverberated  through  the  hills,  as  driven  by  the  approaching 
tramp  of  feet  from  their  midnight  feast  of  half-dried  hides, 
they  stole  to  the  edge  of  the  timber. 

But  soon  their  horrid  howls  grew  more  distant,  melted 
away,  and  deep  silence  brooded  over  the  scene  again.  The 
masked  men  then  formed  a  semicircle  around  the  doomed 
man,  lighted  torches  that  they  had  brought  with  them,  and 
commenced  their  horrid  work. 

Cannady  with  his  arms  and  ankles  tied  and  heavily  iron- 
ed,  sat  crouching  on  the  blood-stained  floor  of  the  slaughter 
pen,  while  the  sickly  light  from  the  torches  glared  upon  the 
disguised  faces  of  his  executioners  and  his  shaggy  hair,  adding 
still  more  horror  to  the  strange  scene. 

The  doctor,  the  only  one  beside  the  prisoner  unarmed 
and  without  disguise,  then  stepped  in  front  of  Cannady,  who 
in  trembling  voice  asked  him  what  all  this  meant. 

The  doctor  said  to  him  that  he  ought  to  understand  by 


246  STORIES  OF  THE 

this  time  from  the  preparation  that  had  been  made,  and  the 
determined  course  that  had  been  pursued  by  those  who  had 
brought  him  there,  that  his  stay  on  this  earth  was  of  short 
duration. 

He  said  to  the  miserable  wretch:  "After  a  fair  and 
impartial  trial,  and  the  discovery  of  overwhelming  proofs  of 
your  murderous  course,  you  are  about  to  expiate  the  foul  and 
unwarrantable  crimes  of  which  you  have  been  adjudged 
guilty. 

11 1  come  to  you  not  as  one  of  your  executioners,  but  to 
learn  if  possible  during  the  last  moments  of  your  life  the  names 
of  your  unknown  victims,  whose  scattered  bones  and  ghastly 
skeletons  only  have  been  found. 

"I  come  for  the  purpose  of  hearing  your  confession  before 
you  are  launched  into  eternity  to  meet  your  God. 

"  Of  those  known  to  have  been  killed  by  your  hands  I 
desire  first  of  all  to  know  about,  Edwards,  who  was  found 
murdered  by  the  trail  near  your  ranch.  What  have  you 
to  say  in  relation  to  that  ?  " 

"  As  God  is  my  judge,"  replied  Cannady,  "  I  never  laid 
eyes  on  Edwards  until  I  found  him  dead,  with  the  currency 
scattered  around  him  just  as  I  reported  it  in  camp." 

"  Where  did  you  hide  the  remains  of  California  Joe,  who 
left  the  mines  and  was  never  seen  after  he  entered  the  Taos 
canon  ?  "  continued  the  doctor  in  his  inquiries. 

"The  last  time  I  saw  Joe,"  Cannady  said  "was  when 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  247 

he  passed  my  ranch  on  his  way  to  the  Burro  Mountains,  and 
I  don't  know  where  he  is." 

The  doctor  then  asked  him  some  questions  in  relation  to 
the  sudden  disappearance  of  Major  Over,  but  Cannady,  who 
had  learned  nothing  of  the  fact  that  the  head  of  the  unfor- 
tunate Major  had  been  found  buried  under  the  floor  of  his 
cabin,  answered  that  he  had  never  seen  Over  after  he  left  his 
ranch  early  one  afternoon  for  Santa  Fe.  "I  have  no  idea 
of  his  whereabouts,"  said  Cannady  to  the  doctor's  pressing 
questions.  "  He  probably  is  in  the  mountains  somewhere, 
murdered  by  the  Apaches,  for  all  I  know." 

Thus  the  hardened  wretch  continued  to  lie  as  the  interroga- 
tories were  pressed  upon  him,  and  no  appeal  was  strong 
enough  to  draw  out  a  single  word  of  confession,  and  any  hope 
of  information  was  abandoned,  so  the  doctor  left  him  in  dis- 
gust. 

All  the  preparations  being  in  readiness  for  the  final  act  of 
the  tragic  scene,  Cannady  was  lifted  upon  a  rude  platform 
under  the  beam  stretching  between  the  two  trees,  where  he 
sat  for  a  moment  crouching  and  trembling,  now  fully  under- 
standing the  horrible  death  that  awaited  him,  when,  with  a 
kick  and  the  terse  phrase,  "  stand  up  you  murdering  hound," 
one  of  his  executioners  helped  him  to  his  feet.  The  rope 
was  now  secured  to  the  beam,  and  the  noose  placed  around 
Cannady's  neck.  In  the  next  instant  three  of  the  stoutest 
men  in  the  party  seized  him  and  threw  him  bodily  fully  five 
feet  into  the  air,  and,  being  a  man  of  huge  frame,  as  he 


248  STORIES  OF  THE 

came  back  on  the  end  of  the  rope  with  his  whole  weight,  his 
death  was  almost  instantaneous. 

The  torches  were  immediately  extinguished,  and  the 
crowd  quickly  dispersed,  leaving  the  body  of  Cannady  dang- 
ling from  the  windlass  in  the  deserted  slaughter  pen. 

Early  the  next  morning,  just  as  the  sun  began  to  peep 
over  the  towering  heights  of  Baldy  range  and  flood  the  little 
valley  with  its  golden  light,  some  one  who  happened  to  ride 
into  town  from  the  direction  of  the  canon  where  the  lynching 
had  taken  place,  saw  the  body  of  Cannady,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments the  little  camp  was  all  astir,  as  the  news  of  Cannady's 
execution  was  heralded  through  the  mountains  and  gulches. 

Soon  crowds  were  wending  their  way  up  the  canon  to  the 
old  slaughter  pen,  where  the  body  of  the  murderer  still  re- 
mained unmolested,  hanging  too  high  to  be  reached  by  the 
wolves  who  had  evidently  been  prowling  around  him  during 
.the  night. 

The  Alcalde  made  his  appearance,  and  immediately  sum- 
moned a  jury  from  those  present,  examined  one  or  two  per- 
sons to  find  out  something  about  the  affair,  but  all  without 
eliciting  a  single  fa"ct. 

He  then  ordered  the  body  cut  down,  and  the  doctor  to 
examine  it,  who  stated  that  death  was  '  '  caused  by  complete 
dislocation  of  the  cervical  vertebrae." 

The  guards  at  the  jail  swore  they  did  not  hear  a  word 
spoken  when  Cannady  was  forcibly  taken  from  them,  and 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  249 

they  could  not  recognize  a  single  one  of  the  party  on  account 
of  their  perfect  disguise. 

The  jury  retired  for  a  few  moments,  and,  after  a  short 
deliberation,  returned  the  verdict,  "that  Cannady  came  to 
his  death  by  hanging,  which  was  done  by  some  person  or 
persons  unknown." 

An  application  was  then  made  by  the  doctor  for  the  body 
for  examination,  he  promising  to  bury  it  without  expense  to 
the  town  if  his  request  should  be  granted. 

Upon  this  the  Alcalde  called  out  to  the  crowd,  "All 
those  in  favor  of  letting  the  doctor  have  the  murderer's 
remains  for  scientific  examination  will  manifest  it  by  saying 
aye?"  A  universal  shout  of  affirmation  rang  through  the 
hills  in  response  to  the  Alcalde's  question.  Contrary  minded, 
no,  cried  the  Alcalde.  A  solitary  "no"  was  uttered  by  a 
miner  who  sat  on  the  top  rail  of  the  cattle-corral  fence, 
swinging  his  long  legs  and  pulling  vigorously  at  a  corn-cob 
pipe. 

"What's  you  objection  Bill,"  said  the  Alcalde. 

"I  want  to  see  a  rope  tied  around  the  legs  of  the  d— d 
villain,  and  help  drag  him  to  the  mountain  near  his  ranch 
and  leave  him  there  for  the  coyotes  to  finish  him  up,"  replied 
Bill. 

This  created  a  ripple  of  merriment,  but  the  doctor 
secured  the  remains  of  Cannady,  sent  them  to  his  office,  pre- 
serving the  murderer's  skull,  which  he  kept  on  the  shelf,  and 
the  remnant  of  the  dissected  body  he  placed  in  a  rough  pine 


250 


STORIES  OF  THE 


box,  and  buried  in  a  grove  on  a  little  hill  overlooking  the 
camp,  near,  but  not  by  the  side  of  the  murderer's  victims. 

Thus  ended  the  career  of  one  of  the  most  bloodthirsty- 
villains  that  ever  lived  in  the  mountains  of  New  Mexico. 
The  deity  whom  he  worshiped  asked  blood,  and  blood  he 
gave  him  by  a  whole  hecatomb  of  human  lives.  The  jus- 
tice he  merited  was  meted  out  to  him,  to  the  great  relief  and 
satisfaction  of  the  whole  community. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  251 


GENERAL  FORSYTH'S    FIGHT   ON   THE  "ARRIC- 
KAREE  FORK  "  OF  THE  REPUBLICAN. 

A    DESPERATE    CHAPTER    IN    KANSAS     HISTORY. 

I  was  sitting  in  my  office  at  Fort  Harker,  on  a  warm 
evening  in  the  latter  part  of  September,  1868,  musing,  over 
a  pipe  full  of  "  Lone  Jack,"  upon  the  possible  extent  of  the 
impending  Indian  war,  (which  had  already  been  planned  by 
General  Sheridan,  in  the  seclusion  of  my  own  quarters  only 
the  night  before).  It  was  rapidly  growing  dark;  the  somber 
line  of  the  twilight  curve  had  almost  met  the  western  hori- 
zon, and  only  the  faintest  tinge  of  purple  beneath,  marked 
the  intermedium  between  the  gloaming  and  the  inkiness  of 
the  rayless  sky. 

Nothing  disturbed  my  reverie — as  I  wandered  in  imagi- 
nation over  the  bleak  expanse  of  the  Arkansas,  Cimarron 
and  Canadian  rivers,  so  soon  to  be  the  scene  of  active  opera- 
tions, except  the  monotonous  clicking  of  the  relay  in  the 
window  of  the  next  room,  where  the  government  night 
operator  was  on  duty,  who  too  was  meditating  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

The  terrible  massacre  on  Spillman  Creek,  only  a  few 
weeks  before,  still  furnished  food  for  revengeful  thoughts 


252  STORIES  OF  THE 

that  would  not  down,  as  images  of  the  murdered  women  and 
little  ones  rose  in  horrible  visions  upon  the  thick  night 
before  me. 

The  dismal  howl  of  a  hungry  wolf,  borne  upon  the 
still  air  from  the  timbered  recesses  of  the  "Smoky,"  but 
added  to  the  weird  aspect  that  my  surroundings  were  hurried- 
ly assuming,  and  there  seemed  some  portentous  and  inde- 
scribable thing  bearing  down  upon  the  place. 

Suddenly  the  operator — while  the- clicking  of  the  instru- 
ments became  more  nervous  and  varied  from  their  mono- 
tone of  the  whole  evening — exclaimed:  "My  God!  Major, 
what's  this?"  What  is  what?  said  I,  jumping  from  my 
chair  and  rushing  to  his  side. 

Quickly  lighting  his  little  lamp  and  seizing  his  pencil, 
he  wrote  upon  a  blank,  as  I  looked  over  his  shoulder,  and 
read — while  the  clicking  grew  more  convulsive  still — these 
words:*  *  *  "  General  Forsyth  surrounded  by  Indians 
on  the  Republican;  Lieut.  Beecher,  the  Doctor  and  many 
of  the  scouts  killed — nearly  the  entire  command,  including 
the  General,  wounded.  Still  well,  one  of  the  scouts,  run  the 
gauntlet  of  the  savages  and  brings  this  report.  Col.  Car- 
penter, loth  Cavalry,  and  his  command  leave  immediately  to 
relieve  them."  *  *  *  *  *  *  * 

This  was  a  fragment  of  the  whole  dispatch  going  over 
the  wires  from  Fort  Hayes  to  Fort  Leavenworth  and  Wash- 
ington, and  we  had  taken  enough  of  it  to  know  that  a  terrible 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  253 

disaster  had  befallen  the  gallant  Forsyth,  of  Sheridan's  staff, 
and  his  plucky  band  of  scouts — all  civilians  and  Kansans. 

The  story  of  this  fight — in  many  respects  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  and  desperate  in  the  annals  of  our  Indian 
wars — is  particularly  interesting  now,  since  the  State,  in  its 
wisdom,  has  established  on  a  firm  foundation,  a  Historical 
Society,  in  the  archives  of  which  are  recorded  the  struggles  of 
her  settlement,  whose  chronicles  make  up  a  large  and  intense- 
ly thrilling  portion  of  our  American  classics. 

While  the  Headquarters  of  General  Sheridan — who  was, 
at  the  date  of  this  narrative,  in  command  of  the  Department 
of  the  Missouri — were  temporarily  established  at  Fort  Harker, 
where  he  was  consummating  his  arrangements  for  a  winter 
campaign  against  the  hostile  tribes,  the  idea  suggested  itself 
to  him  that  a  body  of  carefully  selected  men,  composed  of  the 
best  material  to  be  found  on  the  frontier,  under  the  leadership 
of  an  experienced  officer  could  effect  excellent  results.  These 
scouts,  as  they  were  to  be  termed,  were  to  go  anywhere,  and 
act  entirely  independent  of  the  regularly  organized  ^troops 
about  to  take  the  field. 

Generals  Custer  and  Sully — the  next  in  rank  to  Sheridan, 
and  both  already  famous  as  Indian  fighters — coincided  with 
this  view  of  the  Commanding  General,  and  it  was  determined 
to  equip  fifty  picked  frontiersmen  at  once  and  commission 
Forsyth  as  their  leader,  who  had,  in  the  incipiency  of  the 
thing,  modestly  solicited  the  responsible  position. 

The  fifty  men  were  chosen  from  an  aggregate  of  more 
23 


254  STORIES  OF  THE 

than  two  thousand  employed  by  the  Government  in  various 
positions  at  Forts  Barker  and  Hays,  and  the  reader  may  rest 
assured  that  only  those  were  accepted  who  possessed  the  es- 
sential qualifications  of  indomitable  courage,  wonderful  en- 
durance, perfect  marksmanship,  and  a  knowledge  of  the  In- 
dian character. 

General  Forsyth  chose  for  his  Lieutenant  his  particular 
friend,  F.  H.  Beecher,  of  the  3d  Infantry,  a  nephew  of  the 
celebrated  Brooklyn  preacher. 

Some  days  were  occupied  at  Fort  Marker  in  fitting  out 
the  little  expedition,  but  no  unnecessary  equipage  or  super- 
fluous camp  paraphernalia  formed  any  part  of  the  supplies. 

There  were  no  tents  or  wagons;  pack  mules  carried  the 
commissary  stores,  which  were  of  the  simplest  character,  and 
as  the  object  of  the  party  was  war  its  impedimenta  were  reduc- 
ed to  the  minimum. 

Each  man  was  mounted  on  an  excellent  horse  and  his 
armament  consisted  of  a  breech-loading  rifle  and  two  revol- 
vers. 

This  troop  of  brave  men  left  Harker  for  Hays  in  the  lat- 
ter part  of  August,  from  which  point  their  arduous  duties 
were  commenced. 

On  the  29th  of  that  month  all  the  preliminaries  for  taking 
the  field  having  been  completed,  and  their  surgeon  having 
joined  (whose  name  I  have  unfortunately  forgotten),  they 
marched  out  of  the  Fort,  and  after  scouting  over  a  large 
area  for  several  days  without  meeting  any  signs  of  the  Chey- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  255 


ennes,  they  concluded  to  go  to  Wallace  to  recuperate 
refit. 

Some  time  during  the  second  week  in  September,  the 
Indians  made  a  raid  on  a  government  wagon  train  a  short 
distance  from  a  tank  station  on  the  Kansas  Pacific  Railroad 
about  a  hundred  miles  beyond  Wallace,  and  as  soon  as  the 
news  reached  the  Fort,  over  the  wires,  Forsyth  and  his  little 
band  of  scouts  started  to  intercept  the  savages  on  their 
retreat. 

The  next  morning  the  scouts  struck  the  fresh  trail  of  the 
Indians,  and  by  forced  marches  came  so  close  to  them  that 
they  compelled  them  to  split  into  insignificant  detachments, 
and  night  coming  rapidly  on  the  General  lost  the  trail.  The 
conclusion  was,  after  a  consultation  with  the  best  plainsmen 
among  the  party,  that  the  Indians  would  naturally  go  north- 
ward, so  it  was  determined  to  take  that  direction  in  pursuit. 

The  scouts  continued  their  course  for  more  than  a  week 
without  the  most  trifling  incident  to  relieve  the  wearisome 
monotony  of  the  march,  until  suddenly  on  the  afternoon  of 
the  eighth  day,  as  they  were  approaching  the  bluffs  of  the 
Republican  river,  they  discovered  an  immense  trail  still  lead- 
ing to  the  North. 

The  signs  indicated  that  a  large  body  of  warriors,  with 
pack  animals,  women  and  children,  and  lodges  of  a  big  camp 
had  recently  crossed  there.  It  was  growing  dark,  and  rather 
than  take  the  chances  of  losing  this  trail  in  the  night,  it  was 
determined  to  bivouac  in  the  vicinity,  rest  the  animals,  and 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  257 

continue  the  pursuit  at  the  first  streak  of  dawn.  It  was  well 
that  th;S  course  was  decided  upon,  or  there  would  have  been 
none  left  to  tell  the  story  of  the  fight,  as  the  result  will  show. 
The  spot  selected  for  the  bivouac  had  some  slight  strategic 
value,  and  was  for  that  reason  chosen  by  the  General,  though 
he  had  no  idea  at  the  time  that  any  benefit  would  result  from 
his  judgment  in  this  particular.  It  was  an  elongated  low 
mound  of  sand  (such  as  are  seen  at  intervals  in  the  Arkansas) 
which  a  Fork  (Arrickaree)  of  the  Republican  at  this  pcint  em- 
braced as  it  were  (as  the  Cheyenne  does  the  Black  Hills), 
and  formed  an  island.  If  this  trail  had  not  been  struck,  it 
was  the  intention  to  have  gone  back  to  Wallace  for  provisions, 
as  only  sufficient  for  one  day  remained,  but  upon  prospects 
of  a  fight  it  was  unanimously  agreed  to  go  on  and  take  the 
chances  of  something  to  eat.  In  the  early  gray  of  the  next 
morning  while  the  stars  were  still  twinkling  and  sleep  op- 
presses more  than  at  any  other  hour,  the  sentinels  posted  on 
the  hills  above  the  island  yelled  "  Indians  !  " 

In  a  moment  the  camp  was  awake,  and  with  rifle  in  hand 
each  scout  rushed  for  the  lariat  to  which  his  horse  was  pick- 
eted, knowing,  of  course,  that  the  first  effort  on  the  part  of 
the  Indians  would  be  to  stampede  the  animals.  As  it  was,  a 
small  party  of  the  savages  dashed  in  with  a  horrid  whoop, 
and  shaking  their  buffalo  robes,  succeeded  in  running  off  a 
portion  of  the  pack-mules,  and  one  or  two  of  the  horses. 

A  few  shots  fired  by  the  most  advanced  of  the  scouts 


258  STOXIES  OF  THE 

scattered  the  Indians,  and  quiet  reigned  again  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. 

Almost  immediately,  however,  and  before  the  scouts  had 
completed  saddling  their  horses — which  the  general  had  or- 
dered— one  of  the  guides  nearest  Forsyth  happening  to  look 
up,  could  not  help  giving  vent  to  the  expression  "  Great 
God!  General,  see  the  Indians  !  "  Ouster,  in  his  Life  on  the 
Plains,  in  referring  to  this  fight  says :  "  Well  might  he  be  ex- 
cited. Over  the  hills,  from  the  west  and  north,  along  the 
river,  on  the  opposite  banks,  everywhere,  and  in  every  direc- 
tion they  made  their  appearance.  Finely  mounted,  in  full 
war  paint,  their  long  scalp  locks  braided  with  eagles'  feathers, 
and  with  all  their  paraphernalia  of  a  barbarous  war  party, 
with  wild  and  exultant  shouts,  on  they  came  " 

.  It  was  a  desperate  looking  preponderance  of  brute  force 
and  savage  subtlety  against  the  coolness  and  calm  judgment 
of  the  disciplined  soldier  ;  but  he,  without  glancing  at  the  hell 
in  front,  and  all  around  him,  with  only  the  lines  of  deter- 
mination in  his  face  a  little  more  marked,  and  grasping  the 
terrible  picture  before  him,  stoically  ordered  his  men  to  take 
possession  of  the  sand  mound,  with  their  horses,  and  then  de- 
termined, almost  against  hope,  to  accept  the  wager  of  battle. 

It  happened,  fortunately,  that  on  this  island  were  grow- 
ing some  stunted  shrubs,  to  which  the  animals  were  fastened, 
their  bodies  forming  a  cordon,  inside  of  which  the  luckless 
scouts  prepared  for  the  demoniacal  charge  which  they  knew 
must  come  with  its  terrible  uncertainty  in  a  few  moments. 


OLD  SANTA   FE  TRAIL.  259 

They  had  scarcely  secured  their  horses  before,  like  the  shock 
of  the  whirlwind,  on  came  the  savages,  and  the  awfully  un- 
equal battle  commenced. 

It  was  not  yet  daylight,  and  the  Indians,  taking  advan- 
tage of  the  uncertain  light,  dismounted  from  their  ponies, 
and  creeping  to  within  easy  range,  poured  in  a  murderous 
fire  upon  the  scouts. 

The  Indians  were  splendidly  armed,  as  usual,  by  the 
munificence  of  the  government,  or  its  apathy  in  preventing 
renegade  white  men  or  traders  from  supplying  them. 

When  the  morning  came,  which  had  been  anxiously 
waited  for  by  the  scouts,  they  then  first  realized  their  desper- 
ate situation. 

Apparantly  as  numerous  as  the  sand  grains  of  their  little 
fortification,  the  Indians  hemmed  them  in  on  all  sides ;  more 
than  a  thousand  hideously  painted  and  screaming  warriors  sur- 
rounded them,  with  all  the  hatred  of  the  race  depicted  on 
their  fiendish  countenances,  in  anticipation  of  the  victory 
which  seemed  so  certain. 

Scattered  among  these,  out  of  rifle  range,  were  the 
squaws  and  children  of  the  aggregated  bands  watching  with 
gloating  eyes  the  progress  of  the  battle,  while  the  hills  re- 
echoed their  diabolical  death  chant  and  the  howling  of  the 
medicine-men  and  chiefs  inspiring  the  young  warriors  to  deeds 
of  daring. 

No'one  can  form  the  slightest  conception  of  the  horrid 
picture  spread  before  the  scouts,  on  the  clear  gray  of  that 


260  STORIES  OF  THE 

morning,  unless  he  or  she  has  realized  it  in  encounters  with 
the  hostile  tribes  on  the  Plains.  Language  is  inadequate, 
and  all  attempts  at  word-painting  fall  so  far  short  of  the  real- 
ity that  it  were  better  left  wrapped  in  its  terrible  incompre- 
hensibleness. 

The  General  and  his  brave  men  took  in  their  chances  at 
a  glance,  but  saw  little  hope  in  the  prospect ;  they  determ- 
ined, however,  never  to  be  taken  alive — a  thousand  deaths 
by  the  bullet  were  preferable  to  that— and  made  up  their 
minds  to  fight  to  the  bitter  end,  which  would  only  come  when 
the  ammunition  was  exhausted  or  themselves  killed. 

To  this  purpose  they  commenced  to  intrench  as  best  they 
could,  by  scraping  holes  in  the  sand  with  the  only  implements 
at  their  command — their  knives.  They  succeeded  in  making 
a  sort  of  a  rifle-pit  of  their  position,  but  before  the  work  was 
completed  two  of  the  scouts  were  killed  outright  and  many 
wounded — among  the  latter  the  General  himself.  ^ 

Owing  to  the  dreadful  firing  of  the  Indians,  who  contin- 
uously charged  down  upon  the  "  island,"  the  Doctor  was 
compelled  to  abandon  his  care  of  the  wounded  and  become 
a  combatant ;  he  did  excellent  work  with  his  rifle,  but  a  bul- 
let soon  pierced  his  brain  and  he,  too,  fell  over  dead. 

In  a  few  seconds  after  the  Doctor's  death,  in  the  midst 
of  a  terrible  onset  by  the  Indians,  the  General  was  again 
struck  near  the  ankle,  the  ball  perforating  the  bone  as  per. 
fectly  as  if  done  with  an  auger. 

The  fire  of  the  scouts  had  not,  all  this  time,  been  with- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  261 

out  telling  effect  upon  the  Indians — many  a  painted  warrior 
had  bitten  the  dust  before  the  sun  was  two  hours  high.  At 
each  successive  charge  of  the  red-skins  the  scouts,  cool,  care- 
ful and  deliberate,  took  aimy  and  when  their  rifles  were  dis 
charged  each  put  a  savage  hors  du  combat — there  was  no  am- 
munition wasted. 

Nor  had  the  besieged  escaped  from  the  fearful  onsets  of 

their  enemies;  besides  the  casualities  related,  nearly  all  the 
horses  had  been  killed — in  fact  before  noon  all  but  one  had 
fallen — and  it  is  related  that  when  he  too  was  killed,  one  of 
the  warriors  exclaimed,  "There  goes  the  last  d — d  horse, 
anyway." 

At  this  juncture,  too,  with  all  their  horses  killed,  and 
half  the  number  of  the  scouts  either  killed  or  wounded,  the 
Indians  determined  upon  one  grand  charge  which  should  set- 
tle the  unequal  contest.  So  they  rallied  all  their  forces  and 
hazarded  their  reputation  upon  the  aggregated  assault. 

This  charging  column  was  composed  of  some  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  "  Dog  Soldiers  "  and  nearly  five  hundred  more 
of  the  Brules,  Cheyennes  and  Arrapahoes,  all  under  the  com- 
mand of  the  celebrated  chief,  '-'Roman  Nose." 

I  quote  from  Custer  again  who  tells  of  this  charge  as  it 
was  told  to  him  by  the  most  intelligent  of  the  surviving 
scouts,  and  as  it  has  been  told  dozens  of  times  to  the  writer  : 
"Superbly  mounted,  almost  naked,  although  in  full  war 
dress,  and  painted  in  the  most  hideous  manner,  formed  with 


262  STORIES  OF  THE 

a  front  of  about  sixty  men,  they  awaited  the  signal  of  their 
chief  to  charge,  with  the  greatest  confidence." 

Their  leader- at  first  signaled  to  the  dismounted  men  be- 
yond his  line  of  horsemen  to  fire  into  the  scouts,  and  thus 
make  his  contemplated  charge  more  effective.  At  the  mo- 
ment of  the  fusillade:  "seeing  that  the  little  garrison  was 
stunned  by  the  fire  of  the  dismounted  Indians,  and  rightly 
judging  that  now,  if  ever,  was.  the  proper  time  to  charge, 
"  Roman  Nose"  and  his  band  of  mounted  warriors,  with  a 
wild,  ringing  war-whoop,  echoed  by  the  women  and  children 
on  the  hills,  started  forward." 

"  On  they  came,  presenting  even  to  the  brave  men  await- 
ing the  charge,  a  most  superb  sight. 

"Soon  they  were  within  the  range  of  the  rifles  of  their 
friends,  and,  of  course,  the  dismounted  Indians  had  to  slacken 
their  fire  for  fear  of  hitting  their  own  warriors. 

"  This  was  the  opportunity  for  the  scouts. 

"Now!"  shouted  Forsyth,  and  the  scouts,  springing  to 
their  knees,  and  casting  their  eyes  coolly  along  the  barrels  of 
their  rifles,  opened  upon  the  advancing  savages  a  deadly  fire. 

"  Unchecked,  undaunted,  on  dashed  the  warriors;  steadi- 
ly rang  the  sharp  reports  of  the  frontiersmen.  "  Roman  Nose  " 
falls  dead  from  his  horse;  "Medicine  Man"  is  killed,  and 
for  an  instant  the  column,  now  within  ten  feet  of  the  scouts, 
hesitates — falters. 

"  A  cheer  from  the  scouts,  who  perceived  the  effect  of 
their  well  directed  fire,  and  the  Indians  begin  to  break  and 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  263 

scatter  in  every  direction,  unwilling  to  rush  to  a  hand  to  hand 
struggle. 

"  A  few  more  shots  and  the  Indians  are  forced  back  be- 
yond range. 

"Forsyth  inquires  anxiously,  "Can  they  do  better  than 
that,  Grover?  ' 

"  I  have  been  on  the  Plains,  General,  since  a  boy,  and 
never  saw  such  a  charge  as  that  before." 

"  All  right,  then,  we  are  good  for  them." 

It  Vas  in  this  grand  charge,  led  in  person  by  their 
greatest  of  all  warriors,  "Roman  Nose,"  that  Lieutenant 
Beecher  was  mortally  wounded.  He  suffered  intensely  and 
lingered  some  hours  before  his  manly  spirit  was  extinguished. 

He  and  I  were  warmly  attached  to  each  other.  I  knew 
"full  well"  the  generous  impulses  of  his  warm  young  heart, 
and  his  perfect  unselfishness. 

He  was  brave,  the  very  soul  of  honor  and  a  favorite  in 
all  garrisons. 

I  could  not  write  of  his  death  without  interpolating  here 
my  simple  tribute  to  his  memory.  It  is  a  burning  shame  that 
such  as  he  are  so  frequently  offered  up  on  the  altar  of  a  bar- 
barous policy,  dictated  by  a  great  Government,  that  should 
be  honest  enough  with  its  wards  to  preclude  the  possibility 
of  such  outbreak^  as  our  so-called  Indian  wars. 

Before  night  closed  in  on  the  terrible  tragedy  of  that  day, 
the  Indians  charged  upon  the  weary  and  beleagured  scouts 
again  and  again,  but  were  as  often  driven  back  by  the  dread' 


264  STORIES  OF  THE 

ful  accuracy  of  the  rifles  of  the  besieged  with  an  increasing 
loss  each  time. 

The  earnestly  looked  for  darkness  at  last  brought  the 
welcome  respite,  and  it  was  made  possible  for  the  unfortunate 
men  to  steal  a  few  moments'  rest,  that  was  needed — oh !  how 
much  ! 

Hungry,  exhausted,  with  an  empty  commissariat,  every 
animal  dead,  four  comrades  lying  stark  upon  the  dreary  sand, 
and  a  greater  number  writhing  in  all  the  agony  of  torturing 
wounds;  a  relentless  enemy  ever  watching;  no  skilled  hand 
to  alleviate  the  sufferings  of  the  dying,  and  the  only  hope  of 
help  that  might  never  come,  more  than  a  hundred  miles 
away. 

Think  of  it,  grasp  it  if  you  can  ! 

Later,  while  the  night  yet  thickened,  preparations  were 
made  to  meet  the  events  that  must  surely  come  with  the 
morning's  light,  and  the  little  fort,  for  it  now  had  certainly 
reached  the  dignity  of  that  title — was  made  still  stronger ;  for 
gabions,  the  swollen  carcasses  of  the  dead  horses  were  used, 
and  huge  slices  were  cut  from  their  thighs  for  food. 

Thank  God!  the  tortures  of  thirst  were  not  added  to  their 
other  sufferings,  for  water  was  easily  obtained  by  digging  a 
short  distance. 

Thus  strengthened,  a  midnight  council  of  war  was  held 
in  whispers,  and  it  was  determined  to  send  two  of  their  num" 
ber  to  Fort  Wallace,  as  desperate  as  the  undertaking  was — 
and  a  mere  boy — Stillwell  and  another  scout  (of  whose  name 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  265 

I  have  no  memorandum  at  hand)  expressed  their  willingness 
to  make  the  attempt. 

The  brave  men  crawled  from  the  ''island"  to  run  the 
gauntlet  of  the  watchful  savages  ever  on  the  alert  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  least  unfavorable  demonstration  on  the  part  of 
their  prey,  as  they  fully  believed  them. 

We  will  leave  them  making  their  way  cautiously  but 
hopefully  in  the  darkness,  for  it  is  not  the  purpose  of  the 
writer  at  this  time  to  tell  of  the  noble  efforts  of  these  brave 
messengers  in  their  "hair-breadth  escapes'"  on  their  lonesome 
and  perilous  journey. 

The  details  would  furnish  a  separate  chapter  which  may 
some  day  be  given,  but  let  us  turn  to  the  worn  out  and 
wounded  band  of  heroes  again,  and  learn  how  they  fared  dur- 
ing the  long  days  before  help  could  possibly  reach  them, 
even  were  Stillwell  and  his  companion  able  to  reach  Wal- 
lace. 

The  sun  rose  in  all  the  splendor  of  a  Kansas  Autumn 
morning,  but  the  landscape  bore  the  same  horrid  features  of 
the  day  before.  All  through  the  weary  hours  the  Indians 
kept  up  an  incessant  firing,  but  no  serious  charge  was  at- 
tempted—they had  had  more  than  they  anticipated  in  their 
efforts  in  that  direction  yesterday—  so  the  scouts  pretty  effect- 
ually intrenched,  suffered  but  little  from  the  wild  firing  of 
their  besiegers,  but  it  was  annoying,  and  kept  the  scouts  ever 
prepared  for  a  possible  charge,  the  result  of  which  might  not 

be  so  fortunate  as  that  of  former  ones. 
24 


266  STORIES  OF  THE 

Night  again  came  to  throw  its  mantle  of  rest  upon  the 
little  band,  and  shortly  after  dark  two  more  scouts  were  sent 
out  to  reach  Fort  Wallace,  if  possible,  but  failed  to  get  be- 
yond the  line  of  watchful  savages  and  were  compelled  to 
abandon  the  idea. 

Tais  unsuccessful  attempt  to  go  for  help  cast  a  gloom 
over  the  command,  for  it  could  not  yet  be  known  what  had 
been  the  fate  of  the  other  two  who  had  gone  out  the  night 
previously. 

The  next  day  the  state  of  affairs  assumed  a  more  cheer- 
ful aspect — if  that  could  be  possible — the  squaws  and  child- 
ren had  disappeared,  which  indicated  a  retreat  upon  the  part 
of  the  Indians,  although  they  still  kept  up  their  firing  at  in- 
tervals— perhaps  they  too  were  getting  short  of  ammunition 
and  provisions  ! 

In  the  afternoon,  to  >,  they  hoisted  a  white  rag  upon  a 
pole  and  expressed  a  desire  to  talk,  but  our  heroes  were  too 
wary  to  be  caught  with  such  chaff  as  that,  for  with  Indians  a 
flag  of  truce  means  a  massacre  half  the  time. 

That  night,  two  more  men  were  sent  out,  and  these  car- 
ried that  famous  dispatch  of  Forsyth's,  which  should  hold  its 
place  in  history  with  that  other  memorable  one  of  Grant's  : 
"  I  intend  to  fight  it  out  on  this  line  if  it  takes  all  summer.  " 
Forsyth's  read : 

"  I  am  on  a  little  island,  and  have  still  plenty  of  ammu- 
nition left.  We  are  living  on  mule  and  horse  meat,  and  are 
entirely  out  of  rations.  If  it  were  not  for  so  many  wounded 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  267 

I  would  come  on  and  take  the  chance  of  whipping  them,  if 
attacked.  They  are  evidently  sick  of  their  bargain.  I  can 
hold  out  for  six  days  longer,  if  absolutely  necessary,  but 
please  lose  no  time." 

The  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  on  the  now  historical 
little  island,  broke  somewhat  more  cheerful  still ;  the  Indians 
could  be  seen  rapidly  moving  away,  only  a  few,  comparative- 
ly, remaining  in  sight,  to  wait  until  entire  exhaustion  and 
starvation  should  place  the  scouts  in  their  power — but  they 
little  knew  the  metal  of  the  men  lying  behind  those  breast- 
works of  rotten  carcasses,  or  they  too,  would  have  gone  with 
the  old  men  women  and  children  of  the  tribe. 

But  few  shots  were  fired  by  the  scouts  in  reponse  to  the 
occasional  random  fusillade  of  the  Indians  ;  they  content- 
ed themselves  with  saving  their  ammunition  for  a  possible 
last  grand  act  in  the  drama,  and  only  shooting  when  an  In- 
dian came  within  certain  range,  and  then  he  was  sure  to 
be  sent  to  the  "happy  hunting  grounds." 

Night  again  came,  with  its  relative  rest,  and  then  anoth- 
er weary  day  of  watching  and  waiting,  without  any  special 
demonstration  on  the  part  of  the  Indians. 

But  new  horrors  made  their  appearance  in  the  shape  of 
gangrened  wounds,  and  suffering  for  want  of  food.  The 
putrid  flesh  of  the  dead  horses  and  mules  was  all  that  remain- 
ed that  would  support  life,  and  however  revolting,  it  had  to 
be  swallowed.  The  nauseating  effluvia  of  the  rapidly  decay- 
ing carcasses  too,  made  the  place  almost  intolerable,  and  so 


268 


STORIES  OF  THE 


insufferable  did  it  become  that  the  General  told  those  who 
were  disheartened  to  go,  but  all  to  a  man,  to  their  honor  be 
it  recorded,  refused,  electing  to  remain  with  their  companions 
in  arms — to  be  rescued,  or  die  with  them. 

Two  more  days  of  torture  and  then,  on  the  ridge  between 
them  and  the  golden  sunlight,  gleamed  the  bright  bayonets  of 
Col.  Carpenter  and  his  column  of  "  the  boys  in  blue." 

Their  Havelock  had  reached  this  American  Lucknow, 
and  cheer  after  cheer — feeble  though  they  were — went  up 
from  the  little  island,  and  our  story  closes  with  the  rescue  of 
these  o'er  brave  men. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  269 


A  LIVELY  RACE  WITH  THE  KIOWAS. 

Knowing  that  my  friend,  Theodore  Sternbergh,  Esq., 
now  of  St.  Louis  — son  of  Rev.  L.  Sternbergh.  D.  D.,  of  Ells- 
worth— sometime  in  the  early  settlement  of  Ellsworth  county, 
had  experienced  one  or  two  hair-breadth  escapes  from  the 
Kiowas,  who,  at  that  time,  under  the  chieftainship  of  the 
dreaded  Satanta,-  hung  on  the  edge  of  the  settlements  to 
gather  a  few  scalps,  I  desired  him  to  jot  down  at  his  leisure, 
something  of  the  stirring  events  that  had  come  under  his  own 
observation  during  the  time  he  and  I  were  pleasantly  situated 
as  neighbors  on  the  classic  Smoky  Hill,  then  a  decided  Indian 
country.  The  result  of  that  request  I  herewith  give  our  read- 
ers, assurir  them  it  is  veritable  history.  My  friend  writes 
me  : 

"  You  are  aware  that  in  the  winter  of  1870  I  had  located 
a  homestead  in  Rice  county,  covering  what  is  known  as  the 
Stone  Corral,  on  the  Little  Arkansas  river.  On  the  evening 
of  the  6th  of  August,  1870,  in  company  with  A.  E.  Mat- 
thews, of  Wilson,  I  started  from  Ellsworth  to  visit  my  place. 
We  obtained  a  buggy  at  one  of  the  stables  in  Ellsworth,  and 
a  good-sized,  raw-boned,  razor-backed,  unfortunate  livery 
horse,  with  Matthews'  mare,  composed  our  team.  Stopping 


270  STORIES  OF  THE 

at  Father's  place  on  the  Smoky,  while  Matthews  remained  in 
the  buggy,  I  brought  out  the  necessary  supplies  for  the  trip. 
For  arms  we  had  a  double-barreled  shot  gun  and  a  revolver 
each,  with  plenty  of  powder  and  buckshot.  We  did  not  an- 
ticipate any  trouble,  but,  expecting  to  be  absent  several  days, 
we  intended  to  kill  some  wild  turkeys. 

"  Taking  the  Fort  Sill  trail,  we  drove  several  miles  south 
of  Bradley's  Springs  and  went  into  camp  on  the  morning  of 
the  yth.  As  soon  as  it  was  light  we  resumed  our  journey. 
The  morning  was  very  foggy.  As  soon  as  the  sun  came  up 
and  the  fog  was  dispelled  so  that  objects  could  be  readily 
seen,  the  country  appeared  to  be  alive  with  antelope  and  we 
discharged  the  shot  gun  and  several  loads  from  the  pistols  at 
them,  but  without  killing  any.  The  Fort  Sill  trail,  you  re- 
member, after  it  crosses  the  large  flat  south  of  the  Smoky, 
and  approaches  the  Little  Arkansas,  passes  across  the  heads 
of  innumerable  ravines  or  gullies,  that  trend  toward  that 
river.  This  portion  of  the  road  is  very  rough  for  several 
miles,  but  before  crossing  the  eastern  fork  of  that  river,  the 
trail  is  even  and  good." 

''The  sun  was  now  fairly  up,  and  we  were  driving  rapidly. 
While  I  was  very  busy  attending  to  my  animals,  as  we  ap- 
proached the  east  fork,  Matthews  started  up  from  his  seat, 
saying  he  saw  a  herd  of  buffalo ;  I  replied  that  I  thought  this 
impossible,  as  I  had  already  been  all  through  the  country 
where  we  then  were  the  previous  week,  and  felt  sure  there 
could  be  no  buffalo  anywhere  near  us.  We  were  now  begin- 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  271 

ing  to  descend  toward  the  bottoms  along  the  east  fork.     In 
another  moment  he  said  :  " 

"Those  are  horses,  I  see  eight  of  them." 
"I  replied,  if  you  see  horses,  there  are  Indians  about; 
and  immediately  stopped  the  team.  Looking  at  the  objects 
he  pointed  out,  I  saw  there  were  eight  horses,  apparently 
feeding,  about  half  a  mile  from  us.  Almost  at  the  same 
moment  the  riders — until  then  unseen— straightened  up  in  their 
saddles  and  dashed  toward  us;  Indians,  sure  enough!  The 
horses  scented  them,  and,  turning,  began  to  run.  We  were 
nearly  twenty  miles  from  the  settlements  and  so  determined 
that  our  best  plan  was,  to  put  back  for  the  broken  ground, 
where,  perhaps  we  might  place  the  team  in  some  depression 
and  prevent  their  being  stampeded,  while  we  made  the  best 
fight  we  w  ere  able.  Matthews  took  the  reins,  while  I  pre- 
pared our  arms  for  the  expected  fight.  Placing  the  pistols  on 
the  seat,  so  as  to  be  handy  in  case  of  close  quarters,  I  took 
the  shot  gun  for  the  purpose  of  loading  it.  I  looked  some 
time  for  the  powder  flask,  but  was  unable  to  find  it,  and 
asked  Matthews  where  he  had  placed  it.  He  said  'he hadn't 
seen  any  powder,'  and  sure  enough  there  was  no  flask  in  the 
buggy.  We  had  no  reloads  for  our  pistols,  and  things  began 
to  look  slightly  bilious.  The  number  of  our  pursuers  had, 
in  some  way,  been  multiplied  by  two,  and  they  were  after 
us  as  fast  as  their  ponies  could  travel.  We  were  not  prepar- 
ed for  a  fight,  even  if  the  odds  had  not  been  so  great,  and 
our  only  chance  was  to  run  foi  it,  and  try  to  reach  the  hay 


272  STORIES  OF  THE 

camp  at  Bradley' s  Springs.  While  the  road  was  smooth,  our 
team  gallantly  held  their  own,  and  perhaps  would  have  won 
in  time,  had  the  road  continued  level." 

11  We  soon  reached  the  broken  ground,  and  our  horses 
were  fast  becoming  unmanageable  in  crossing  the  gullies.  At 
the  bottom  of  the  ravines  we  could  not  follow  the  turns  of 
the  road  so  as  to  get  the  safe  crossings,  but  took  them  straight 
and  on  the  fly.  The  Indians  now  rapidly  gained  on  us,  and 
were  hardly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  behind.  We  could  hear  their 
yells — not  the  most  pleasant  music  in  the  world  to  us  at  that 
time.  Our  buggy  was  liable  to  be  smashed  at  any  moment. 
There  was  but  one  thing  for  us  to  do — to  leave  it  and  mount 
our  horses.  Turning  them  against  the  face  of  a  hill  steep 
enough  to  stop  them,  we  unharnessed  our  quadrupeds  about 
as  quickly  as  ever  that  thing  was  done  in  Kansas,  and  sprang 
upon  them,  saddleless  as  they  were.  I  happened  to  get  the 
razor-back.  The  Indians  were  almost  upon  us,  and  yelling 
like  a  pack  of  wolves." 

"  Then  ensued  a  magnificent  race — prize,  our  hair.  It 
was  up  hill  and  down ;  my  hat  flew  off  at  the  first  ditch ;  I 
did  not  stop  to  pick  it  up,  the  truth  is,  it  was  a  little  out  of 
fashion.  I  now  have  great  respect  for  my  livery  horse,  for 
he  proved  to  be  like  a  singed  cat,  better  than  he  looked.  For 
a  short  time  he  breathed  so  hard,  that  I  feared  he  would  fail 
altogether." 

"  Matthews's  mare  ran  easily,  but  soon  the  horse  received 
somehow  a  fresh  supply  of  wind,  and  we  ran  neck  and  neck. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  273 

We  gradually  gained  on  our  pursuers,  and  when  about  four 
miles  south  of  Bradley's  Springs  were  nearly  a  mile  ahead, 
and  they  gave  up  the  chase." 

"  We  went  on  to  Harker,  and  with  a  small  escort  I  return- 
ed for  the  buggy.  The  vehicle  was  uninjured,  but  the  Indi- 
ans had  taken  every  strap  of  the  harness,  blankets,  picket 
ropes,  etc.  Part  of  our  lunch  consisted  of  some  of  Hon.  D. 
B.  Long's  cheese ;  this  the  Indians  had  not  touched,  but  ail 
the  other  eatables  had  disappeared." 

"  This  race  would  have  been  splendid  to  have  witnessed 
from  the  grand  stand — the  time  was  good,  though  no  record 
of  it  was  made.  My  physical  feelings  were  too  deeply  hurt 
to  appreciate  humor  just  then.  I  was  entirely  satisfied  with 
bare  back  riding,  and  it  grieved  me  to  have  my  friends  insist 
that  I  should  sit  down  and  tell  them  all  about  it — I  preferred 
to  stand  up." 

"  If  you  know  the  Indian  who  has  my  shot  gun,  please 
tell  him  chickens  are  plenty,  and  I  wish  he  would  return  it. 
He  may  keep  the  hat.  Perhaps  I  might  not  inopportunely 
add  that  the  powder  flask  was  found  hanging  on  the  fence  at 
the  ranch  on  the  Smoky,  just  where  we  had  left  it." 


274  STORIES  OF  THE 


SE-QUO-YAH. 

In  only  a  few  instances  have  the  people,  in  naming  the 
streams,  and  the  more  than  a  hundred  counties  of  the  State, 
perpetuated  the  legends  and  the  memory  of  the  heroes  of  the 
Indian  tribes  that  only  a  few  short  years  since  held  almost 
undisputed  possession  of  Kansas. 

The  Indian's  speech  lingers  oftener  on  the  rivers  and 
mountains  of  New  England  than  in  the  New  West — to  its 
shame  be  it  said. 

We  wish  our  people  would  adhere  more  rigidly  to  the 
beautiful  sounds  of  the  Sioux,  Cheyennes  or  Arrapahoes — 
certainly  Ta-to-ka  is  more  euphonous  than  Skunk  Creek,  or 
Ta-chanta-wak-pa  than  Turkey  or  Dry  Creek,  and  Ninnescah 
is  more  poetical  than  Smithville  or  Bungtown. 

Aside  from  the  mere  aesthetics  of  the  idea,  with  the 
Indian  names  are  associated  the  legends,  traditions  or  his- 
toric facts  of  the  locality,  for  the  Indian  constructs  his  no- 
menclature out  of  actual  occurrences  on  the  spot  he  names, 
and  with  the  preservation  of  these  primitive  appellations  by 
us,  veritable  history  is  secured  to  the  state — unimportant 
and  trifling  in  some  instances  perhaps — but  oftener  interest- 
ing and  worthy  of  a  place  in  our  archives. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  275 

Sequoyah  county,  or  as  it  should  be  written,  Se-Quo-Yah, 
is  named  in  honor  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men—  In 
dian  though  he  was— of  any  age. 

This  county  which  lies  beyond  the  one  hundrjth  merid- 
ian, in  the  State  of  Kansas — that  much  talked  of  and  written 
about  astronomical  line,  on  which  and  ulterior  to,  some  me- 
teorologists would  have  us  believe  lies  a  veritable  desert,  where. 
on  nothing  will  grow — in  fact  has  a  soil  whose  inherent  fer- 
tility compares  favorably  with  any  on  the  continent,  and  which 
by  a  system  of  irrigation — simple  and  ridiculously  inexpen- 
sive—inaugurated only  last  season  by  one  of  its  first  settlers, 
Hon.  C.  J.  Jones,  has  produced  results  that  astonished  even 
its  energetic  projector.  By  a  series  of  shallow  ditches  the 
water  is  drawn  from  the  Arkansas,  which  falls  nearly  ten  feet 
to  the  mile— the  odium  which  attached,  but  wrongfully  to  that 
region  has  been  dissipated,  and  farms  are  eagerly  sought  for ; 
however,  it  is  not  of  this  I  propose  to  write,  but  of  the  cele- 
brated Indian  from  whom  the  county  takes  its  name. 

The  mother  of  Se-Quo-Yah  the  blood  of  whose  veins  was 
slightly  tinged  with  English,  was  a  Cherokee,  and  possessed 
the  characteristic  beauty  of  her  race  in  an  eminent  degree. 

The  family,  without  aspiring  to  the  aristocracy  of  the 
tribe,  "  was  prominent  and  influential,  and  some  of  her  broth- 
ers became  members  of  the  council." 

In  1768  the  mother  of  Se-Quo-Yah  met  and  married  a 
German  peddler,  known  as  George  Gist,  evidently  an  igno- 
rant, unimportant  tramp  of  a  fellow,  whose  name  would  never 


276  STORIES  0*  THE 

have  come  down  to  history  but  for  the  fact  that  he  was  the 
father  of  Se-Quo-Yah  and  with  that  fact,  based  upon  the  evi- 
dence of  the  mother  of  Se-Quo-Yah,  George  Gist  steps  down 
and  out,  long  before  hi  remarkable  son  was  born,  or  in  the 
language  of  Se-Quo-Yah's  historian,  "gathered  together  his 
effects,  went  the  way  of  all  peddlers,  and  never  was  heard  of 
more." 

The  historian,*  whom  we  shall  now  quote  in  full,  in  tell- 
ing the  wonderful  story  of  Se-Quo-Yah  says  : 

"  George  Gist  left  behind  him  in  the  Cherokee  Nation  a 
woman  of  no  common  energy,  who  through  a  long  life  was 
true  to  him  she  still  believed  to  be  her  husband.  The  desert- 
ed mother  called  her  babe  'Se-Quo-Yah'  in  the  poetical  lan- 
guage of  her  race.  No  truer  mother  ever  lived  and  cared  for 
her  child,  whom  she  reared  with  the  most  watchful  tenderness. 
With  her  own  hands  she  cleared  a  little  field  and  cultivated 
it,  and  carried  her  babe  while  she  drove  up  her  cows  and 
milked  them." 

"  His  early  boyhood  was  laid  in  the  troublous  times  of 
the  war  of  the  Revolution  yet  its  havoc  cast  no  deeper  shadows 
on  the  widow's  cabin." 

"  As  he  grew  older  he  showed  a  different  temper  from 
most  Indian  children.  He  lived  alone  with  his  mother,  and 
had  no  old  man  to  teach  him  the  use  of  the  bow,  or  to  indoc- 
trinate him  in  the  religion  and  morals  of  an  ancient,  but  per- 
ishing people.  He  would  wander  alone  in  the  forest,  and 

*  Hon.  W.  A.  Phillips,  of  Salina,   Kansas. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  277 

showed  an  early  mechanical  genius  in  carving  with  his  knife 
many  objects  from  pieces  of  wood.  He  employed  his  boyish 
leisure  in  building  houses  in  the  forest.  As  he  grew  older, 
these  mechanical  pursuits  took  a  more  useful  shape.  The 
average  native  American  is  taught  as  a  question  of  self-re- 
spect to  despise  female  pursuits.  To  be  made  a  '  woman  '  is 
the  greatest  degradation  of  a  warrior." 

"  Se-Quo-Yah  first  exercised  his  genius  in  making  an  im- 
proved kind  of  milk  pans  and  skimmers  for  his  mother.  Then 
he  built  her  a  milk  house,  with  all  suitable  conveniences,  on 
one  of  those  grand  springs  that  gurgle  from  the  mountains  of 
the  old  Cherokee  Nation.  As  a  climax,  he  even  helped  her 
to  milk  her  cows;  and  he  cleared  additions  to  her  fields,  and 
worked  them  with  her.  She  contrived  to  get  a  petty  stock  of 
goods,  and  traded  with  her  countrymen.  She  taught  Se-Quo- 
Yah  to  be  a  good  judge  of  furs.  He  would  go  on  expeditions 
with  the  hunters,  and  would  select  such  skins  as  he  wanted 
for  his  mother  before  they  returned.  In  his  boyish  days  the 
buffalo  still  lingered  in  the  valleys  of  the  Ohio  and  Tennes- 
see. On  the  one  side  the  French  sought  them.  On  the  other 
were  the  English  and  Spaniards.  These  he  visited  with  small 
pack  horse  trains  for  his  mother.  For  the  first  hundred  years 
the  European  Colonies  were  traders  rather  than  agricultur- 
ists. Besides  the  fur  trade,  rearing  horses  and  cattle  occupied 
their  attention.  The  Indians  east  of  the  Mississippi,  and  liv- 
ing between  the  Appalachian  Mountains  and  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  had  been  agriculturists  and  fishermen.  Buccaneers, 
25 


278  STORIES  OF  THE 

pirates,  and  even  the  regular  navies  or  merchant  ships  of 
Europe,  drove  the  natives  from  the  haunted  coast.  As  they 
fell  back,  fur-traders  and  merchants  followed  them  with  pro- 
fessions of  regard  and  extortionate  prices.  Articles  of  Euro- 
pean manufacture —knives,  hatchets,  needles,  bright  cloths, 
paints,  guns  and  powder — could  only  be  bought  with  furs. — 
The  Indian  mother  sighed  in  her  heart  for  the  beautiful  things 
brought  by  the  Europeans.  The  warrior  of  -the  southwest 
saw  with  terror  the  conquering  Iroquois,  armed  with  the 
dreaded  'fire-guns'  of  the  stranger.  When  the  bow  was  laid 
aside  or  handed  to  the  boys  of  the  tribe,  the  warriors  became 
the  abject  slaves  of  the  traders.  Guns  meant  gunpowder  and 
lead.  These  could  only  come  from  the  white  man.  His 
avarice  guarded  the  steps  alike  to  bear  meat  and  beaver  skins. 
Thus  the  Indian  became  a  wandering  hunter,  helpless  and 
dependent.  These  hunters  traveled  great  distances,  some- 
times with  a  pack  on  their  backs  weighing  from  thirty  to  fif- 
ty pounds.  Until  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  horses 
had  not  become  very  common  among  them,  and  the  old  In- 
dian used  to  laugh  at  the  white  man  so  lazy  that  he  could  not 
walk.  A  consuming  fire  was  preying  upon  the  vitals  of  an 
ancient  and  simple  people.  Unscrupulous  traders,  who 
boasted  that  they  made  a  thousand  per  cent,  held  them  in  the 
most  abject  thrall.  It  has  been  carefully  computed  that  these 
hunters  worked,  on  an  average,  for  ten  cents  a  day.  The 
power  of  their  old  chiefs  grew  weaker.  No  longer  the  old 
man  taught  the  boys  their  traditions,  morals  or  religion. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  279 

They  had  ceased  to  be  Pagans  without  becoming  Christians. 
The  wearied  hunter  had  fire-water  given  him  as  an  excite- 
ment to  drown  the  sorrows  common  to  white  and  red.  Slow- 
ly the  politics,  customs,  industries,  morals,  religion  and  char- 
acter of  the  red  race  were  consumed. 

In  this  terrible  furnace  of  avarice  the  foundations  of 
our  early  aristocracies  were  laid.  Byrd  in  his  "History 
of  the  Dividing  Line  "  tells  us  that  a  school  of  sixty-seven 
Indian  children  existed  in  1720,  and  that  they  could  all  read 
and  write  English  ;  but  adds,  that  the  jealousy  of  the  traders 
and  land  speculators,  who  feared  it  would  interfere  with 
their  business,  caused  it  to  be  closed.  Alas !  the  people 
had  encountered  the  iron  nerve  of  Christianity,  without 
reaping  the  fruits  of  its  intelligence  or  mercy. 

Silver  although  occasionally  found  among  the  North 
American  Indians,  was  very  rare  previous  to  the  European 
conquest.  Afterward,  among  the  commodities  offered,  were 
the  broad  silver  pieces  of  the  Spaniards,  and  the  old  French 
and  English  silver  coins.  With  the  most  mobile  spirit  the 
Indian  at  once  took  to  them.  He  used  them  as  he  used  his 
shell-beads  for  money  and  ornament.  Natural  artificers  were 
common  in  all  the  tribes.  The  silver  was  beaten  into  rings, 
and  broad  silver  bands  for  the  head.  Handsome  breast- 
plates were  made  of  it,  necklaces,  anklets  and  rings  for  the 
toes. 

It  is  not  wonderful  that  Se-Quo-Yah's  mechanical  genius 
led  him  into  the  highest  branch  of  art  known  to  his  people, 


280  STOK1ES  OF  THE 

and  that  he  became  their  greatest  silversmith.  His  articles 
of  silverware  excelled  all  similar  manufactures  among  his 
countrymen. 

He  next  conceived  the  idea  of  becoming  a  blacksmith. 
He  visited  the  shops  of  white  men  from  time  to  time.  He 
never  asked  to  be  taught  the  trade — he  had  eyes  in  his  head, 
and  hands,  and  when  he  bjught  the  necessary  material  and 
went  to  work,  it  is  characteristic  that  his  first  performance 
was  to  make  his  bellows  and  his  tools ;  and  those  who  saw 
them  say  they  were  well  made. 

Se-Quo-Yah  was  now  in  comparatively  easy  circumstan- 
ces.. Besides  his  cattle,  his  store,  his  farm,  he  was  a  black- 
smith and  silversmith.  In  spite  of  all  that  has  been  alleged 
about  Indian  stupidity  and  barbarity,  his  countrymen  were 
proud  of  him.  He  was  in  danger  of  shipwrecking  on  that 
fatal  sunken  reef  of  American  character,  popularity.  Hos- 
pitality is  the  ornament,  and  has  been  the  ruin,  of  the  Abo- 
rigines. His  home,  his  store  or  his  shop  became  the  resort 
of  his  countrymen ;  there  they  smoked,  talked,  and  learned 
to  drink  together. 

After  Se-Quo-Yah  had  grown  to  man's  estate  he  learned 
to  draw.  His  sketches,  at  first  crude,  at  last  acquired  con- 
siderable merit.  He  had  been  taught  no  rules  of  perspec- 
tive, but  while  his  perspective  differed  from  that  of  an  Eu- 
ropean, he  did  not  ignore  it  like  the  Chinese.  He  had  now 
a  very  comfortable  hewed-log  residence,  well  furnished  with 
such  articles  as  were  common  with  the  better  class  of  white 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  281 

settlers  at  that  time,  many  of  them,  however,  made  by  him- 
self. Before  he  reached  his  thirty-fifth  year  he  became  ad- 
dicted to  convivial  habits  to  an  extent  that  injured  his  busi- 
ness, and  began  to  cripple  his  resources. 

Unlike  most  of  his  race,  however,  he  did  not  become 
wildly  excited  when  under  the  influence  of  liquor.  Se-Quo- 
Yah,  who  never  saw  his  father,  and  never  could  utter  a  word 
of  the  German  tongue,  still  carried  deep  in  his  nature  an  odd 
compound  of  Indian  and  German  trancendentalism ;  essen- 
tially an  Indian  in  opinion  and  prejudice,  but  German  in  in- 
stinct and  thought.  A  little  liquor  only  mellowed  him — it 
thawed  away  the  last  remnant  of  Indian  reticence.  He  talk- 
ed with  his  associates  upon  all  the  knotty  questions  of  law,  art 
and  religion. 

Indian  Theism  and  Pantheism  were  measured  against  the 
Gospel,  as  taught  by  the  land-seeking,  fur-buying  adventur- 
ers. A  good  class  of  missionaries  had  indeed  entered  the 
Cherokee  Nation;  but  the  shrewd  Se-Quo-Yah,  and  the  dis- 
ciples this  stoic  taught  among  his  mountains,  had  just  sense 
enough  to  weigh  the  good  and  the  bad  together,  and  strike 
an  impartial  balance  as  the  footing  up  for  this  new  proselyt- 
ing race.  It  has  been  erroneously  alleged  that  Se-Quo-Yah 
was  a  believer  in,  or  practiced  the  old  Indian  religious  rites. 
Christianity  had,  indeed,  done  little  more  for  him  than  to  un- 
settle the  pagan  idea— but  it  had  done  that. 

It  was  some  years  after  Se-Quo-Yah  had  learned  to  pre- 
sent the  bottle  to  his  friends  before  he  degenerated  into  a 


282  STORIES  OF  THE 

toper.  His  natural  industry  shielded  him  and  would  have 
saved  him  altogether,  but  for  the  vicious  hospitality  by  which 
he  was  surrounded.  With  the  acuteness  that  came  of  his  for- 
eign stock,  he  learned  to  buy  his  liquor  by  the  keg.  This 
species  of  economy  is  as  dangerous  to  the  red  as  to  the  white 
race.  The  auditors  who  flocked  to  see  and  hear  him  were 
not  likely  to  diminish  while  the  philosopher  furnished  both 
the  dogmas  and  the  whisky.  Long  and  deep  debauches  were 
the  consequence.  Still  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  Se-Quo- 
Yah  to  be  a  wild  shouting  drunkard. 

All  the  great  social  questions  were  closely  analyzed  by 
men  who  were  fast  becoming  insensible  to  them.  When  he 
was  too  far  gone  to  play  the  mild  sedate  philosopher,  he  be- 
gan that  monotonous  singing,  whose  music  carried  him  back 
to  the  days  when  the  shadows  of  the  white  man  never  dark- 
ened the  forests,  and  the  Indian's  canoe  alone  rippled  the 
tranquil  waters. 

ghould  this  man  thus  be  lost?  He  was  awakened  to  his 
danger  by  the  relative  to  whom  he  owed  so  much.  His  tern, 
per  was  eminently  philosophic.  He  was  as  he  proved,  capa- 
ble of  great  effort,  and  great  endurance.  By  an  effort  which 
few  red  or  white  men  can  or  do  make,  he  shook  off  the  habit, 
and  his  old  nerve  and  old  prosperity  came  back  to  him.  It 
was  during  the  first  few  years  of  this  century  that  he  applied 
to  Charles  Hicks,  a  half  breed,  afterward  principal  chief  of 
the  Nation,  to  write  his  English  name.  Hicks,  although 
educated  after  a  fashion,  made  a  mistake  in  a  very  natural 


OLD  SANTA  FE    TRAIL.  283 

projects.  In  his  journey  to  the  west,  as  well  as  to  Washing- 
ton, he  had  an  opportunity  of  examining  different  languages, 
of  which,  as  far  as  lay  in  his  power,  he  carefully  availed  him- 
self. His  health  had  been  somewhat  affected  by  rheumatism, 
one  of  the  few  inheritances  he  got  from  the  old  fur-peddler 
of  Ebenezer  •  but  the  strong  spirit  was  slow  to  break. 

He  framed  a  theory  of  certain  relations  in  the  language 
of  the  Indian  tribes,  and  conceived  the  idea  of  writing  a 
book  on  the  points  of  similarity  and  divergence.  Books  were 
to  a  great  extent  closed  to  him ;  but  as  of  old,  when  he  be- 
gan his  career  as  a  blacksmith  by  making  his  bellows,  so  now 
he  fell  back  on  his  own  resources.  This  brave  Indian  philos- 
opher of  ours  was  not  the  man  to  be  stopped  by  obstacles. 
He  procured  some  articles  for  the  Indian  trade  he  had  learn- 
ed in  his  boyhood,  and  putting  them  and  his  provisions  and 
camp  equipage  in  an  ox-cart,  he  took  a  Cherokee  boy  with 
him  as  driver  and  companion,  and  started  out  among  the 
wild  Indians  of  the  plain  and  mountain,  on  a  philological 
crusade  such  as  the  world  never  saw. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  features  of  his  experience 
was  the  uniform  peace  and  kindness  with  which  his  brethren 
of  the  prairie  received  him.  They  furnished  him  means,  too, 
to  prosecute  his  inquiries  in  each  tribe  or  clan. 

That  they  should  be  more  sullen  and  reticent  to  white 
men  is  not  wonderful  when  we  reflect  that  they  have  a  sus- 
picion that  all  these  pretended  inquiries  in  science  and  re- 
ligion have  a  lurking  eye  to  real  estate.  Several  journeys 


284  STORIES  OF  THE 

were  made.  The  task  was  so  vast  it  might  have  discouraged 
him.  He  started  on  the  longest  and  last  journey.  There 
was  among  the  Cherokees  a  tradition  that  part  of  their  nation 
was  in  New  Mexico,  separated  from  them  before  the  advent 
of  the  whites.  Se- Quo- Yah  knew  this,  and  expected  in  his 
rambles  to  meet  them.  He  had  camped  on  the  spurs  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  he  had  threaded  the  valleys  of  New  Mexi- 
co, looked  at  the  adobe  villages  of  the  Pueblos,  and  among  that 
race,  was  neither  Spaniard  nor  Indian,  with  swarthy  face  and 
unkempt  hair.  He  had  occasion  to  moralize  over  those  who 
had  voluntarily  become  the  slaves  of  others  even  meaner  than 
themselves,  who  spoke  a  jargon  neither  Indian  nor  Spanish, 
Catholics  in  name,  who  ate  red  pepper  pies,  gambled  like  the 
fashionable  frequenters  of  Baden,  and  swore  like  troopers. 

It  was  late  in  the  year  1842  that  the  wanderer,  sick  of  a 
fever,  worn  and  weary,  halted  his  ox-cart  near  San  Fernando 
in  Northern  Mexico.  Fate  had  willed  that  his  work  should 
die  with  him.  But  little  of  his  labor  was  saved,  and  that  not 
enough  to  aid  any  one  to  develop  his  idea.  Bad  nursing, 
exposure  and  lack  of  proper  medical  attendance  killed  him. 
On  the  far  off  Rio  Grande  he  sleeps — the  greatest  man  of  his 
race. 

On  the  pages  of  American  Classics  Se-Quo-Yah's  name 
will  ever  'shine.  He  was  even  greater  than  Cadmus,  the 
Phoenician.  All  honor  to  those  who,  imbued  with  a  spirit  of 
the  highest  emulation,  named  one  of  our  counties  at  least 
after  Se-Quo-Yah. 


OLD  SANTA  FE  TRAIL.  285 

Congress  at  one  time  contemplated  removing  his  remains 
east  and  erecting  a  suitable  monument  over  them,  but  the  idea 
has  never  been  carried  out  and  probably  never  will  be,  for  if 
the  Father  of  his  Country  has  nothing  in  the  shape  of  the  en- 
during marble  to  commemorate  his  virtues,  how  much  less 
may  we  expect  that  this  poor  Indian,  though  the  first  to  vital- 
ize and  preserve  the  Indian  language  to  history  shall  be  thus 
remembered !  Se-Quo-Yah's  monument  will  ever  be  the  hal- 
lowed reverence  in  the  hearts  of  his  people,  and  that  magnifi- 
cent area  of  our  beautiful  prairie  whose  legal  limits  bear  his 
name. 


STORIES  OF  THE 


WILL  THE  BUFFALO  BECOME  EXTINCT  ? 

During  Kendall's  Santa  Fe  Expedition  in  1841,  the  party 
one  evening  while  camping  somewhere  on  the  banks  of  the 
Arkansas,  were  visited  by  an  old  trapper,  and  a  discussion 
arose  in  relation  to  the  immense  numbers  of  buffaloes  that 
were  feeding  in  the  bottom  a  few  miles  up  the  river.  Ken- 
dall asked  the  old  man  : 

"How many  buffaloes  did  you  ever  see  atone  time?" 

"Can't  say  exactly;  probably  between  two  and  three 
millions,"  replied  the  old  man,  with  a  cool  matter-of  fact 
indifference,  as  much  as  to_say,  ,that  he  was  keeping  as 
near  the  truth  as  possible. 

I  do  not  say  that  I  have  seen  two  or  three  millions  at 
the  same  time,  but  I  have  stood  upon  a  high  roll  of  the  prai- 
rie, with  neither  tree  nor  brush  to  obstruct  the  vision  in  any 
direction,  and  have  seen  these  animals  grazing  upon  the  plain 
and  darkening  it  at  every  hand.  And  once  I  rode  with  a 
party  of  friends  in  the  winter  of  1868  for  four  days  through 
one  continuous  herd. 

There  are  perhaps  larger  herds  in  Northern  Texas  than 
anywhere  else  on  the  western  prairies,  because  their  most 
powerful  enemies,  the  Indians,  do  not  range  so  low  down  on 
account  of  the  whites,  but  every  year  their  numbers  are 


OLD   SANTA  FE  TRAIL. 


287 


rapidly  decreasing,  and  their  range,  owing  to  the  encroach- 
ment of  the  settlements  from  the  east  and  south,  becomes 
more  and  more  circumscribed. 

It  would  seem  impossible,  especially  to  any  one  who 
has«seen  them  as  numerous  as  the  sands  on  the  sea-shore,  on 
their  immense  natural  pastures,  that  they  could  ever  be  ex- 
tinct, yet  when  we  look  back  only  a  decade  ago,  and  remem- 
ber how  even  near  Pawnee  Rock  they  roamed  in  such  num- 
bers, and  now  how  far  off  the  nearest  are,  we  feel  compelled 
to  believe  that,  like  the  Dodo  and  Great  Auk,  in  a  few  years 
they  will  be  seen  only  stuffed,  and  in  a  museum. 


